The New Arrival
by Marianne Greenleaf
Summary: Marian has a new assistant! Miss Jane Edna Peabody is young, intelligent and enthusiastic - the perfect person to help run things while the librarian prepares for motherhood. But Marian is having difficulty ceding control of her precious library...
1. Much Ado About Nothing

As much as she had learned to appreciate the beauty and whimsy of life's natural chaos in the year since Professor Harold Hill came to River City, Marian Paroo Hill still found it immensely refreshing when, after wiping lingering fingerprint smudges off the tables, straightening the benches and putting loose-lying books back on their proper shelves, she paused to behold a library that was spotless and pristine enough to be featured as a museum exhibit. While Marian made allowances for a certain amount of disarray in the charming Victorian in which she and her husband resided – although Harold tried his best to please her, she understood that organization of the minutiae would never be one of his strong points – Madison Public Library was wholly the librarian's domain, and she continued to maintain it to the pinnacle of her usual precise and orderly standards.

However, to her consternation and annoyance, Marian was lately discovering that, as she neared her eighth month of pregnancy, she was going to have to relax her exacting specifications. As much as she prided herself on her dogged determination not to let illness or fatigue prevent her from accomplishing the necessary chores of day-to-day living, the sheer exhaustion of carrying a child was unlike anything she had ever experienced, and there were often times she simply had to stop what she was doing and take it easy. Normally, the librarian would have forged ahead anyway in a stubborn rebellion against her own limits, but as the health of her unborn child depended on her own fitness, she could not afford to be selfish. So a stool was placed at the main desk for Marian to sit on when she wasn't assisting patrons or doing anything that strictly required being on her feet, and she had given her solemn promise to both Dr. Pyne and her husband that she would refrain from performing a litany of tasks that could lead to overexertion or injury – such as traversing the library's narrow spiral staircase more than three times a day or making use of the ladder to restock books on the highest shelves.

Although Marian was more than happy to sacrifice a little efficiency for the sake of her child – and was secretly relieved to have the opportunity for rest, as she truly was tired – she still chafed under all the new restrictions. Not being able to climb the staircase too often or put away every book severely limited the scope of what the librarian could accomplish. Even though this problem was soon solved through the hiring of a permanent assistant, Marian longed for the day when she would regain full use of her faculties – even if her schedule at the library would be curtailed owing to the new duties motherhood bestowed upon her, when she did work, she would at least be able to complete her job to the fullest extent of her mental and physical capabilities!

Marian's present circumstances were particularly vexing when, at the end of her evening, she inevitably found herself holding at least one book whose position on the shelf she had misjudged – as much as she tried to stretch and strain, she could not reach high enough to deposit the volume in its proper place. Although the librarian had kept her promise in the past and dutifully surrendered such tomes to her assistant for handling, on this occasion the ladder was resting a mere two feet away. And the home for the book Marian was holding wasn't _too _high up – just one step would suffice. The librarian paused, and gazed longingly at the tempting sight of the ladder before her. Surely making use of its lowest rung just this one time wouldn't hurt…

"Don't even think about it, Madam Librarian."

At the sound of her husband's dulcet, velvety voice – which tonight held the hint of a genuine scold in it – Marian started, clutched at the book before it slipped through her fingers and fell to the floor, and whirled around.

"My goodness, Harold!" she scolded, trying to catch her breath. "Was it really necessary for you to sneak up on me like that?"

Harold's grin widened. "It wasn't my intention to sneak up on you – at least, not on purpose. I've actually been standing here for the last few minutes, waiting for you to turn around so I could greet you properly." He walked over and plucked the book out of her hands. "But when I saw you eying that ladder, I could no longer remain silent."

"Well, I would only have used the lowest rung, and only for a moment," Marian replied, sore at having been caught so irrevocably. When her husband finished reshelving the volume and turned to raise an eyebrow at her remark, she smirked and retorted, "And startling me like that isn't very good for the baby's health, either!"

Harold approached the librarian, his eyes gleaming with the same playful mischief. "Don't make me tattle to Dr. Pyne on you," he teased, shaking a finger at her. "Or worse – I'll tell your mother what you've been up to!"

Marian caught the music professor's finger mid-waggle. "I thought both Dr. Pyne and my mother advised you to ease my burdens – not add to them," she slyly pointed out.

In response, Harold bent his head and bestowed several tiny kisses on her hand as it clasped his. "You're absolutely right, my dear little librarian – I should atone for all the trouble I've caused," he murmured, a note of real desire entering his flirtatious tone. As Harold's eyes met hers, his free hand found the small of her back, and he pulled her closer. "And I think I'll do that now… "

Even though it was closing time and most of the library's patrons had gone for the day, Marian gasped and stepped back out of his embrace before his lips could land on hers. "We're not alone anymore in the evenings, you know," she reminded him, a tad crossly.

But Harold would not be deterred so easily. "Last I saw your assistant, she was thoroughly engrossed in neatening the card catalog at the front desk," he assured her, wrapping his arms around her waist. His eyes met hers again. "Just one kiss, darling, for old time's sake?"

He was gazing at her with that entreating look she could never resist. Although Marian still didn't think it was appropriate to encourage such behavior and tried not to allow invitation to enter her expression, she couldn't bring herself to move away when Harold grinned and leaned in again.

But before his mouth could meet hers, their promising embrace was curtailed once again.

"Mrs. Hill?" a bright voice rang out, dispelling the romantic mood. "I finished with the card catalog."

Husband and wife quickly moved apart, and Marian smoothed her hair and brushed the wrinkles from her gown before walking to the edge of the aisle, facing the front desk and replying as if nothing was amiss, "Thank you kindly, Miss Peabody."

Jane Edna Peabody, a thin slip of a woman barely in her twenties, looked up and beamed at the librarian as if she had paid her the most flattering of compliments. "Always a pleasure, Mrs. Hill! As much as I like to see River City's healthy appetite for reading, I do so enjoy putting things to rights at the end of the evening."

The young woman's enthusiasm was infectious; despite her lingering embarrassment at having been interrupted in the midst of a somewhat-inappropriate tête-à-tête with her husband, Marian smiled in return. Miss Peabody, bless her dear unsuspecting heart, remained just as oblivious to the music professor and librarian's romantic shenanigans amongst the stacks as she had that day two weeks ago when she first showed up to interview for the position of assistant to River City's librarian.

As ever, Marian had arrived to open the library promptly at eight o'clock in the morning, and found Miss Peabody waiting on the front steps and regarding her with the same cheerful smile as she was now. When the librarian acknowledged her with a friendly smile in return, the woman introduced herself in a polite but forthright manner, offering a pleasantly firm handshake and wasting no time in stating her purpose for being there. Marian's eyes brightened when she heard Miss Peabody hailed all the way from Marshalltown – River City lacking eligible applicants, the librarian had gotten the trustees' and the mayor's blessing to expand her search to the surrounding counties, and she had just put out advertisements for an assistant the week before.

After presenting the requested letters of recommendation and character testaments, Miss Peabody detailed her qualifications, which were quite impressive – not only did the woman possess a college degree, she could read Latin, speak fluent French, and had briefly held a position as a personal secretary to a college professor after graduating high school. At first, Marian was a bit overawed – with her sterling credentials and glowing references, this young woman could have done practically anything she wished! Keeping her expression pleasantly neutral – but unable to prevent awe from entering her voice – the librarian asked why she had decided to come to River City.

Not even batting an eye at Marian's surprise, Miss Peabody cheerfully but matter-of-factly explained her situation. She had been born in Villisca and orphaned as a baby when both her parents were killed in a fire that destroyed her childhood home. Mercifully, a neighbor managed to rescue her from the flames, and her only kin – an aunt and uncle from Marshalltown – took her in. They were elderly and pretty set in their methods and opinions – especially when it came to raising children, even if they had never had any of their own – but they did their best to provide a loving home for their niece, and they were the only family Miss Peabody had. Although her peers found her agreeable enough, she had been a rather bookish child who preferred solitude over company, and the boys certainly never looked her way with enamored smiles – unless they needed help with their homework. Her marriage prospects being rather dismal in the town where she spent her childhood, Miss Peabody had decided to enroll in the University of Iowa. For her sake, her aunt and uncle were hoping she would achieve her "MRS" there, but instead, she finished school with her BA in English. Ever practical, Miss Peabody resigned herself to spinsterhood and decided to make the best of her talents – but she wanted nothing more than to land a good job that was relatively near home, so she could support her family but still visit them on holidays. And so she had come to River City, a fresh-faced college graduate eager to make something of herself.

As Miss Peabody related this tale in her blithely frank manner, the librarian nodded in sympathy and understanding – if her own family had possessed the money to send her to school and Uncle Maddy had not left her the library job, Marian might have been telling a similar story to a potential employer somewhere in Iowa. And there was something endearing about this Jane Edna Peabody – something that made Marian want to do what she could to help her.

Perhaps it was the charming incongruities in her appearance. Although Miss Peabody had a reedy figure and her attire was rather plain and dowdy for one so young, she was not at all unattractive with her wide gray eyes, cherubic cheeks sprinkled with freckles, and mop of chestnut-colored curls that were coifed and twisted into an elaborate chignon similar to Marian's. However, whereas the librarian's sleek blonde tresses lay elegantly against her head the way they were supposed to, the sheer volume of hair Miss Peabody possessed gave the impression of being untamable and itching to burst free from the hairpin prison to which it had been so unfairly confined. Despite the fact that Miss Peabody was a well-organized, neatly groomed woman who obviously took great pains to maintain a respectable appearance, there was something about her dress and demeanor that suggested try as she might, she couldn't tie up every loose seam – a slight tug on her sleeve or catch of her hem on a corner, and she would quickly unravel into a disheveled mess. As Harold later concluded privately to Marian after meeting Miss Peabody, this was a woman who could not contain her intensely robust spirit or the nagging sense that she would always be teetering on some precipice but, by God, she tried her damnedest to do so. The inclination toward concealing the entirety of her true self lest others disapprove was something with which Marian could identify wholeheartedly, even now that she had been accepted into polite society. So in a spirit of camaraderie, she invited her new assistant to refer to her as "Miss Marian."

But when she issued this invitation, the librarian found out Miss Peabody's informal amiability went only so far, as the woman possessed a certain polite reserve that was most likely the result of her careful upbringing. While she thanked Marian profusely for the warm welcome and even obliged at first, she looked vaguely uncomfortable at the prospect of such easy familiarity, and was soon blithely addressing her as "Mrs. Hill" once more. As the two women were only five years apart in age, this somewhat rankled the librarian – even after her marriage, River City's teens, children, female friends who were around her age and even, on occasion, Mayor Shinn still referred to her by this sobriquet. The only people who called Marian "Mrs. Hill" on a regular basis – besides men who weren't her husband – were Mrs. Shinn and her ladies.

But as it was a minor issue and Miss Peabody meant her no malice – on the contrary, she seemed extremely eager to please her new employer – Marian let it pass. Once the librarian finished explaining her own circumstances in a similarly forthright manner – owing to the delicacy of her condition, she needed to have an assistant in place to ensure everything at the library would be running smoothly when things got busy at the start of the school year in September and, of course, when she had to take her leave of absence in October – Miss Peabody offered to begin straightaway.

So Marian had put her to work at once and, from the first, Miss Peabody proved herself to be an invaluable asset to Madison Public Library. Not only did her organizational skills and instinct for neatness rival those of Marian's, her memory for even the most obscure facts was astounding – after a few days in her new position, she didn't even need to check the card catalog when directing people to the books they sought. And she was unfailingly cheerful in her toils, always greeting even the most crotchety and hard-to-please patrons with a perky smile. However, her immense intelligence gave her the unfortunate tendency of assessing situations in a rather blunt, to-the-point manner that was jarring in a young woman; Miss Peabody did not mince words. But her optimistic outlook and genuine good heart softened the effect of her honest tongue – for all her candor, she never spoke a disparaging word about anyone, nor did she repeat gossip. Her frankness was not borne of cynicism or erudition; she was like a child unthinkingly giving voice to the observations that entered her head – even uncomfortable truths that were perhaps best left unstated.

For example, when Harold exited the aisle to rejoin his wife, Miss Peabody jumped a little at his unexpected presence and said in a merry voice, "My goodness, Professor Hill, I had no idea you were here! You sneaked right by me… and for the third time this afternoon alone! You must _live_ in the library."

The enumeration of Professor Hill's frequent visits wouldn't have been so bad if Cissy Gale and her friends weren't sitting at a nearby table. Sure enough, Miss Peabody's innocent comment sent them into a fresh tizzy of giggling – they were old enough to extrapolate that Harold came to the library in search of pleasures far greater than pondering Shakespeare's clever iambic pentameter or perusing Beethoven's brilliant symphonies. Not that Marian was all that concerned about teenage gossip, even if it had been a gang of girls that launched the Salem Witch Trials of yore – but these were the young ladies she had to admonish at least once a month for their unsavory pastime of seeking out the library's more mature material for cheap and licentious thrills. The real-life scenario that was now unfolding before them was better than anything the printed page could deliver and would sate their appetites for scandal-tinged romance in a pinch – how could Marian even begin to scold them for their unladylike actions when her own behavior was no longer demonstrably spotless?

For it was true that Harold had taken to dropping by the library rather often as the librarian's pregnancy progressed – his concern, first and foremost, was that his wife was well and happy. For her part, Marian welcomed any excuse to spend time with her husband, and she was grateful for his loving concern – mostly. Although Miss Peabody tended to pop up anywhere and everywhere in the stacks when she was hard at work, the music professor did not seem to be bothered by the increased potential for interruption – as usual, he never hesitated to maneuver his wife to a more-private corner and steal kisses whenever the opportunity presented itself. Even if Marian shared Harold's opinion that Miss Peabody was no threat, she could not allow the woman to be privy to all their secrets. Such remarks, as innocent as they were, could set off a firestorm of gossip if the conditions were right!

Fortunately, the audience for this particular scene was one Marian could easily subdue. "Girls, the library is closing now," she said in her stern, no-nonsense "librarian" voice. "Please bring your books to the front desk for Miss Peabody to stamp."

Frowning as their fun was prematurely cut short, Cissy and her friends nevertheless obeyed and quietly gathered their things. Every now and then the silence was punctuated by a giggle – which was quickly smothered when Marian aimed an icy glare in the perpetrator's direction. Although the librarian had softened considerably since Professor Hill's arrival to town, she retained a vestige of her strictness, and River City's youth still dreaded her blistering scoldings enough to avoid provoking a lecture. Even if there was the tantalizing suspicion that Marian had been engaged in salacious activities, the library was still her domain, and few dared to question her authority here.

Once again, the librarian's impeccable poise erased any doubt as to the uprightness of her character – to their girlish minds, which still retained the naiveté of youth despite their yearning for worldly sophistication, no woman could look so certain of herself unless she was innocent of wrongdoing. So by the time their books were checked out and they were all set for the evening, Cissy and her friends were regarding the librarian with apologetic expressions as they streamed out of the library.

Harold, who looked amused by the whole thing, grinned and gave them all friendly waves farewell as they went by, gestures that perked the girls right up again and which they returned with joy. Professor Hill was considered something of an Adonis among River City's teenage girls – postcards with his likeness were avidly sought after and hoarded like candy, any openings that arose in the small band of baton twirlers resulted in fierce competition to fill the role, and a look or word from the man himself was enough to elevate a girl's prestige with her friends for at least a week. Normally, Marian shared her husband's amusement at this fawning, which came with the territory of being the most admired man in town; for the most part, these crushes were harmless fun and it was one of the rites of girlhood to moon over handsome public figures. But tonight the librarian was weary of such foolishness, and shot her husband a look as the last of the girls exited the library.

Once she had dismissed Miss Peabody as well – the woman gave the music professor and librarian a bright smile and departed, cheerfully unaware of the scene she had inadvertently caused – Marian turned to Harold and admonished, "You shouldn't encourage them – heaven knows they already spend half their days sighing over romantic heroes and scouring the books for love scenes!"

Harold chuckled. "Is that jealousy I hear, Madam Librarian?" he asked with a wink.

"Jealousy!" Marian exclaimed, giving a ladylike snort as she retrieved the building keys from their drawer. "What on earth do I have to be jealous about? I'm your beloved wife and the soon-to-be mother of your child – and they're just silly teenagers!"

Harold's eyes gleamed with mischief. "Weren't we all… at one time."

Even in her annoyance, Marian had to laugh. "I was never _that_ bad!" she protested. "For one, I managed to enjoy stories for more than their romance. And you would never have caught _me_ openly ogling any man who was the object of my affections!" She sighed. "I'm just tired of their shenanigans. It's thanks to them that I had to remove Casanova's _Spanish Passions_ from circulation!"

The music professor's smile turned apologetic. "You're right, darling – I shouldn't encourage them," he said in a conciliatory manner, taking her hand in his and giving it a gentlemanly kiss. "You have my solemn promise that I'll do my best to avoid encouraging them in the future."

Marian raised an eyebrow at her husband. This wasn't the first time he had given up so easily – it seemed Cissy Gale and her friends weren't the only River City-ziens who were loath to inflame the librarian's temper. But even though the librarian sometimes found her bombastic husband's lack of restraint inconvenient and frustrating, she missed their take-no-prisoners repartee, which had lost a bit of its fire as a result of Harold's forbearance.

But perhaps in this instance, he was the wiser one – finding she lacked the energy to prolong their banter, after all, Marian simply smiled and allowed her husband to wrap a shawl around her shoulders before escorting her out of the library.

XXX

Although the librarian had been outside just a few hours ago – Harold had dropped by a few hours after lunch, and the temptation to take a short jaunt to the Candy Kitchen to assuage her cravings for a strawberry phosphate proved too great to resist – she was pleasantly surprised to find that since sunset, the weather had gone from uncomfortably sweltering to agreeably balmy.

However, Marian was still exhausted. Her weariness was made worse by her throbbing feet and aching back; perhaps it hadn't been such a good idea to put that pile of books away, even if the shelves were within reach. The librarian was so sore that, even as practiced as she was in soldiering on without complaint, she couldn't completely conceal her discomfort. When Harold placed a gentle hand on the small of her back – the very locus of her pain – she squirmed a little at his touch. Obligingly, her husband gave her aching muscles a squeeze, which somewhat eased her discomfort – at least, enough for her to smile and go back to pretending she was perfectly fine.

When Harold's gaze turned back to the road ahead and he expertly guided them around a pothole without the slightest break in his smooth stride, Marian let out a small, inaudible sigh. Even though she dreaded the idea of labor, she was fast becoming convinced that she couldn't wait for it all to be over. As the librarian had gotten bigger, she began to feel as if she had been pregnant interminably – although it had not really been so long ago, she could only dimly recall being svelte and graceful, able to dance cheek to cheek with her husband, walk for long distances with him and make love with passionate abandon.

But that seemed eons ago – almost another existence. Now when she embraced Harold, she could no longer press her hips against his without the roundness of her stomach coming between them. Now she comported herself in as awkward and ungainly a manner as a waddling goose – while her husband still moved with the same sleek grace and elegance as he ever did! However, despite the fact Marian could no longer match his stamina or aplomb, Harold remained as loving and attentive as he was during their courting days; even as big as she'd gotten, he still looked at her like she was the most glamorous woman he had ever known. Marian found his behavior both alluring and frustrating, as physical intimacy was steadily becoming too difficult and dangerous as her pregnancy progressed.

But they still had their moments. Ever since spending that blissful birthday afternoon canoodling in the faraway field, husband and wife had stopped attempting to deny their desire for each other and, employing the ingenuity and experimentation that had led to the successful refinement of the Think System, they soon discovered other ways in which they could physically express their love for one another. For Marian, the small intimacies that once served as merely a delicious prelude to sensual pleasure were the things she liked best – the gentle but heated caresses of Harold's hands and lips upon her bare skin both soothed her aches and sated her passion. As for her husband's carnal appetites, he seemed just as pleased by the ardent kisses and caresses she generously bestowed upon him in return.

As these evening delights were what Marian dreamed about most, she felt a lovely sense of anticipation and a welcome resurgence of energy when Harold closed the front door of their charming Victorian and escorted the woman he loved upstairs to their bedroom. When they arrived home at night, the first thing her husband did was help her undress – both for practical and romantic purposes.

Tonight, Harold was in fine form. First he unclasped the top button of Marian's dress, which she could no longer reach with ease, and dropped a soft kiss on the nape of her neck that sent a wonderful little shiver down her spine. Then he removed her gown and undergarments until she was clad only in her camisole and drawers, and his capable hands went straight to her lower back to knead the kinks out of it. Once Marian's sighs contained more delight than relief, Harold brought her to a chair and removed her shoes. As she wriggled her toes, happily liberated from their cramped confinement, her husband rolled down her stockings and began to massage her swollen feet. However, even as she continued to sigh appreciatively at his ministrations, her expression turned glum as her thoughts returned to the place she had spent so many of her waking hours since coming to River City.

Ever attentive to his wife's shifting moods, Harold paused in his caresses and looked up at her. "What's the matter, darling?" he murmured, his voice an inviting purr that lulled Marian into instant confession.

"I can't seem to carry out any of my duties, anymore," she lamented. "I can't go to the second floor too often because of that blasted spiral staircase, so nearly half the library has become off limits for me – I can no longer help someone find a book that's been misplaced. Of the areas I can still go into, I can't put away books unless I can reach the shelves without assistance, but I also can't carry more than five books at a time lest my back complain of the load. Because the uncirculated archives are located on the second floor, I can't manage them properly, and I also can't unpack shipments. I certainly can't set up displays! So I spend most of my days sitting behind the main desk, but there is only so much typing and reorganizing of the card catalog that needs doing." The librarian paused to let out a long sigh. "Am I doomed to become a cipher in my own library?"

Chuckling sympathetically, Harold leaned in and placed a tender kiss on the inside of her thigh. "Darling, you are as necessary to River City's library as you ever were. As limiting as it is, your condition is only temporary – and I'm confident that with your robust constitution, you'll soon recover your full capacities." Still grinning, he nevertheless grew more serious in tone and waggled a finger at her as he continued, "But until then, you need to be a little less 'Iowa stubborn!' Let Miss Peabody do all the heavy lifting for a little while – after all, that's what she's there for… "

Marian was inclined to argue that Miss Peabody still had a ways to go before she was ready to assume so much responsibility, but Harold continued his persuasive kisses up her leg, parting the folds of her drawers as he went, until he was teasing and tickling her with his mouth and she could do nothing but giggle and gasp her acquiescence. Once he had extracted her solemn promise that she would relax her hold a bit and allow Miss Peabody to take the reins – the charming music professor had long ago discovered he could get her to agree to anything when he kissed her _that_ way – he let up and grinned at her, as pleased as a cat that had caught a canary.

Marian reached down and pulled him up into her arms. The baby kicked, as if in protest at no longer occupying the center of their focus, but neither husband nor wife paid attention. "That was a dirty trick!" she admonished – although her eyes shone with delight.

"Yes, it was," Harold proudly agreed, _his_ eyes twinkling with seductive mischief. "Should I do it again?"

The librarian let out another gleeful giggle and twined her hands in her husband's rich brown locks as he lowered his head to her lap once more.

XXX

_To be continued…_


	2. Caught in the Act, Reprise

Although Harold's method of persuasion was blatantly unfair, it had the desired effect: The next day, Marian was feeling so tranquil and at peace with the world that she spent most of her time at the front desk fiddling absentmindedly with paperwork and gazing dreamily at her surroundings. While the usual disruptions punctured the silence of the library – Cissy Gale and her friends giggling when they located a particularly heated passage in a novel, Tommy and Zaneeta planning their next footbridge rendezvous in furtive whispers, Miss Ida crinkling pages while she scoured the educational journals, gentleman farmer Asa Sheldon giving pointed harrumphs as he perused the latest agricultural tracts – these had all ceased to irritate the librarian.

But even so, Marian was delighted to discover that Miss Peabody was indeed capable of rising valiantly to the occasion even when she hadn't received explicit instructions to act: Proving just as intolerant of too much noise, the young woman flitted from one disturbance to the next, quashing commotion with such a stern air of authority that Madison Library's patrons added another person to the list of River City-ziens whose tempers should never be provoked.

In her serene mood, Marian would have been content to simply observe Miss Peabody maintain order for the rest of the day. But when the librarian's lower back began to make its usual complaints around midmorning, she stood up from her stool and gathered an armful of books. Perhaps a bit of walking around would ease the pain that was now her constant companion.

In a flash, Miss Peabody returned to her side. "Would you like me to start reshelving those?" she inquired. "My apologies for being remiss in keeping up with the volume of returns, but we've been unusually busy this morning." She paused and gazed at the overflowing cart. "My goodness, how the books pile up when one's back is turned!"

"You're doing a wonderful job," Marian assured her. "And I'll handle the returns – at least, as many of them as I can reach."

Instead of being relieved at this easing of her burdens, Miss Peabody looked distinctly uncomfortable. But before the librarian could ask what the matter was, her assistant nodded respectfully at this decree and gave her such a sunny smile that she wondered if she had just been imagining things.

Her present state of mind leaving her more disposed to amusement than irritation, Marian laughed to herself as she went about her task. What a lot of fuss everyone was making over her condition – one would almost think she was the first female librarian to fall pregnant in the history of mankind! Her husband, mother, friends and acquaintances all fussed over her – and now her own assistant had joined the ranks of the fretful, although she was too polite to say anything. But at Marian's most recent consultation with Dr. Pyne, he had assured her that her health was as fine as to be expected for a woman approaching her eighth month – ironically, he seemed the least worried of anyone! And the librarian _felt_ fine – despite the fact that all this movement after several hours of stillness was making her sore muscles twinge a bit more than she expected – in fact, she felt better than she had in quite some time. Still, ever mindful of her promise to her husband, Marian made sure not to overtax herself – she carried only a few books at a time and didn't attempt to reshelve anything that required too much stretching or stooping. Instead, she dutifully left these tomes on the cart for Miss Peabody to handle. Harold would have been proud of her.

Or perhaps not. As Marian worked her way through fiction from H through P – taking care to avoid any ladders or step-stools she came across – she was jolted out of her pleasant reverie by a stern, masculine voice:

"Marian, what are you doing?"

The librarian turned to face her husband with a genuinely innocent smile – which she maintained even when she saw him frowning at her. "Why, I'm shelving books, of course!"

Harold flashed her a smile in return, but the displeasure didn't entirely fade from his expression. "Why isn't Miss Peabody doing this?" he inquired with a definite edge to his voice. "I thought we agreed you were going to relax more and let her do the heavy lifting."

"Oh, I have been relaxing, darling," Marian assured him. "This is the first time I've left the desk all morning."

The music professor didn't look comforted by her response – perhaps because he had come across her on the second floor, which meant she had once again taken the chance of climbing the narrow spiral staircase. But Marian didn't mention this and, to her relief, Harold refrained from pointing it out as well. "Apparently, you and I have different ideas about what constitutes 'relaxing,'" he muttered.

"What's wrong with shelving books?" she asked, bewildered by his disapproval. "Especially as I'm sticking with lighter volumes on shelves I can easily reach! Dr. Pyne said it wasn't good for me to be completely sedentary."

"Dr. Pyne gave you that advice over three months ago," Harold countered. "As I recall, his most recent advice was that you should be gradually decreasing your activity as your confinement gets closer." He leaned closer and wagged his finger at her. "That includes reshelving books, Madam Librarian – or anything else that requires being off your stool for too long!"

"It doesn't matter whether I sit or stand anymore," Marian snapped, her eyes narrowing. "Either way, my feet swell up and my back aches before noon!"

As soon as the librarian said this, she regretted it – she had been so focused on defending her actions in this single instance that she lost track of the greater good. As Marian chided herself for this tactical blunder, the anger in Harold's eyes was replaced with pensive consideration, and he regarded her in thoughtful silence for a few moments before finally saying the words she'd been dreading since Miss Peabody became her assistant:

"Marian… maybe it would be best if you stopped working at the library every day."

Knowing she was fast losing this argument, Marian reached out for her husband's hands. "Oh please, not yet," she entreated. "Please, Harold, not yet."

Harold exhaled sharply and pressed his lips together. Although the silence between them was tense, Marian felt a renewal of hope for her cause when she saw a slight but definite softening of the stiff resolve in her husband's eyes. "How much longer?" he finally asked.

If she could, Marian would have worked right up to the day her labor began. "I was thinking perhaps until the end of September," she ventured, taking as big an estimate as she dared. "Only one more month."

Once again, she had taken things a little too far. The music professor yanked his hands out of hers and exclaimed, "A _month_?"

Now it was Marian's turn to scold. "Hush!" she admonished – as did several other patrons who'd jumped at the commotion.

Harold still looked apoplectic, but he lowered his voice. "Marian, are you _mad_?" he hissed, pulling her into a more-private corner of the library so there was less chance of their quarrel being overheard. "You're dead on your feet now – there's no way you're going to be able to handle a ten-hour day, six days a week for another _month_!"

"Well, how long were you thinking?" the librarian asked in as conciliatory a tone as she could muster, hoping to assuage his agitation before they made too much more of a scene.

Harold's answer was instantaneous. "A week, maybe – if that."

"A _week_?" Marian exclaimed. "I couldn't possibly!"

"Sssssh!" the patrons commanded again.

Now it was the librarian's turn to steer the two of them toward a more-secluded area. "I couldn't possibly wrap up my affairs in only a week," she said in a quieter voice. "I need a little more time – how about two weeks?"

Harold tugged on her arm until she was facing him. "Marian, you can't go on like this," he said firmly. He paused, and his shoulders slumped. "And… neither can I."

Marian had been prepared for her husband to protest, but she never thought he'd say something so dire; any further attempts to negotiate were lost in sheer dismay. "And what, precisely, do you mean by _that_?" she asked in a level voice that belied the terrible churning in the pit of her stomach which, for once, was not caused by the incessant wriggling of their little one.

Regret stealing into the music professor's expression, he sighed and took her hands in his. "Marian," he said in an anguished voice, "every evening when I come to walk you home, you're paler and more exhausted than you were the day before. There no longer seems to be a time when you aren't weathering pain of some kind, and it takes longer and longer to soothe your aches each night." He lifted her hands to his lips and bestowed such sweet, soft kisses on the tips of her fingers that Marian felt tears welling up in her eyes as he continued, "If you don't start making some real changes, there might come a day when your body decides a course of action for you – and it might be a devastating one."

At this loving but frank assessment of her circumstances, Marian repressed a sob. Even if she could have spoken, there was nothing she could say. Harold was right – she couldn't keep going like this. Of everything she stood to lose should she continue on this path – her family, her livelihood, her health and possibly even her life – the library was the only thing she could truly afford to relinquish. Why then, was she having such difficulty letting it go?

For a moment, Harold simply gazed at her with tender sympathy, before cupping her cheek in his hand and leaning in to whisper, "Marian… I see how much of a toll your condition takes on you, and it kills me that you have to go through so much difficulty." He paused and tensed up a little, like he wanted to say more, but wasn't entirely certain how to proceed.

And he never got the chance to continue. The baby began to squirm, startling both of them. But Marian shouldn't have been surprised; the baby always moved whenever Harold was near, as if it already knew and yearned for its father. Close enough to feel the commotion for himself, the music professor pulled back a little and placed his other hand on his wife's stomach. As their unborn child continued to fidget, Harold's eyes met the librarian's.

"I love you, Marian," he said solemnly. "You mean everything to me."

In the course of their maneuvering, husband and wife ended up in the ancient languages aisle, which held material that was too incomprehensible and arcane for all but a handful of River City's most avid scholars. And Marian was quite certain that Miss Peabody wasn't likely to pop up here, either – even if she could read Latin – because just that morning, the librarian had given her a lengthy organizational assignment to work on in her spare time.

So it was Marian who wrapped her arms around Harold, and Marian who leaned in to cover her beloved's mouth with an ardent kiss. When they finally parted, Harold looked as utterly undone as he had the night on the footbridge when she first confessed her feelings for him.

The librarian gave her befuddled husband a sly smile. She couldn't blame him for being so dazed – she had never before initiated one of their library embraces. "Let's meet in the middle, darling," she suggested. "Two-and-a-half more weeks, and then I'll trim my schedule at the library."

Harold chuckled indulgently. "Say now, Madam Librarian," he admonished as his hands found their way to her waist, "now who's playing dirty?"

Marian pressed against him for another deep kiss. "Two-and-a-half more weeks," she insisted in the throaty tone she knew he could never resist.

"Oh, Marian… " the music professor murmured in reluctant but willing compliance as she lightly traced her lips along the line of his jaw. "Two-and-a-half more weeks," he finally agreed, his mouth nuzzling the curve of her neck in return. "But not a day longer… "

Her victory complete, the librarian pulled back to regard her husband with a triumphant grin. However, she didn't get to savor her success, as it was that precise moment when Tommy and Zaneeta happened to round the corner of the ancient languages aisle.

"Ye gods!" Zaneeta burst, letting out a giggle and clapping her hands over her mouth. Even Tommy, who by virtue of his hardscrabble background was much less of a stranger to the facts of life than the sheltered daughter of River City's mayor, goggled at the two of them.

Marian and Harold smoothly but quickly ended their embrace. While the music professor manifested a keen passion for ancient languages and stuck his nose in the nearest book he could lay his hands on, the librarian marshaled her famous composure and calmly inquired, "Good afternoon, Tommy and Zaneeta. Is there something I can help you find?"

At first, the teens simply gawked at her, uncomprehending – the situation had only ever been the other way around and it was the librarian who came upon the two of them canoodling amidst the stacks – but then Zaneeta recovered enough to elbow her beau.

"Oh, yes – we were looking for a book in a foreign language," Tommy stammered, pretending just as valiantly that nothing improper had occurred.

Disregarding the blush that was steadily creeping across her cheeks, Marian said in the same polite, unconcerned tone, "Was there a particular book you were seeking?"

To her surprise, Tommy exchanged a brief but uneasy glance with Zaneeta, before replying in a rather unconvincing voice, "Miss Peabody told us where it was, but we can't remember the title, exactly… "

Harold immediately looked up from his book and gave the boy a wink and a grin. "Do you happen to remember the topic?" he said encouragingly. "This aisle is chock-full of anything you'd want to know about Egyptian hieroglyphics, Sumerian cuneiform, Biblical Aramaic, Hindu Sanskrit and" – he eyed the tome he was holding – "Celtic runes."

"I believe you mean Norse runes," Marian gently corrected, repressing a smile. Apparently, she and her husband weren't the only couple who had realized the romantic possibilities of this seldom-perused aisle!

"Yes, of course," Harold concurred in a voice of serene nonchalance.

"Come to think of it, it was something in French," Tommy replied, regarding his mentor with grateful eyes.

"Yes – something in French," Zaneeta echoed with a blushing smile that was a striking departure from her cheerily guileless disposition.

"You'll want the modern languages section, then," Marian said pleasantly, ignoring the fact that Zaneeta was unlikely to forget where Madison Library housed books of a language in which she had become extremely fluent. "That's downstairs next to the drama section. Miss Peabody can assist you."

"Yes, she's been very helpful," Tommy agreed. Bidding the music professor and librarian farewell, he took Zaneeta by the arm and steered her out of the ancient languages aisle in a gesture that was downright Harold-ish in its swiftness and aplomb.

Marian's embarrassment, which had ebbed upon her discovering that she and her husband weren't the only ones whose plans to canoodle were foiled by unexpected company, returned as soon as she and Harold were alone again. And the librarian's sense of abashment was compounded by the unavoidable fact that in this instance, she had been the instigator of their heated embrace. What did she have go and do that for? Her seduction could just as well have waited until that evening!

Harold chuckled as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. "You can't blame me for this one, Madam Librarian. Not one bit."

Although Marian scowled at her husband, she bit back all the potential retorts hovering on the tip of her tongue. Any remark she could use as a defense would reopen the argument she had just barely won. The important thing was that she was still on her full schedule at the library for the time being – even if it had cost her a bit of her pride.

But as it turned out, even silence couldn't preserve her victory. Angrily whirling around, the librarian intended to signify her disdain for future conversation by exiting with her usual graceful stride – something she had done so many times before. However, she had never attempted to perform this maneuver while eight months pregnant; while Marian executed the turn of the heel beautifully, she was unable to come to a halt at the proper point, as she forgot to account for the extra momentum that her increased girth lent to her twirl. Instead of marching determinedly back to the front desk, she staggered to and fro in a desperate bid to recover her balance – an effort that ultimately proved futile as dizziness descended and sent her swooning to the floor.

Thank heavens Harold was there to catch her. But even after Marian was safely ensconced in his arms, the world continued to turn at an alarming rate, making her feel as though she were trapped on a carousel that wouldn't stop spinning. Squeezing her eyes shut and clinging to her husband, Marian waited for her nausea and disorientation to pass. She was dimly aware of approaching footsteps and alarmed voices, but they didn't completely register in her mind until, after finally recovering her equilibrium, she opened her eyes and saw that Harold wasn't the only one looming over her. Tommy and Zaneeta were also regarding the librarian with concern – which made her nervously wonder how long she'd been unconscious and how much of a commotion her clumsiness had caused.

But Marian never managed to ask any of these questions. As soon as her gaze settled on her husband, his expression transformed from guilty alarm to elated relief, and he leaned in to plant several grateful kisses on her cheeks and forehead.

"Thank God," he said fervently. "Darling, I'm so sorry… "

The music professor might have forgotten they had an audience, but Marian hadn't. Not that Tommy and Zaneeta were the type to be scandalized by such displays – in fact, the teens looked just as relieved at her recovery – but the librarian thought it best for _someone_ in this comedy of errors to maintain decorum.

Standing up straight, Marian smiled at her husband – who kept a steady hand on her waist even after he wasn't supporting her any longer. "I only have myself to blame for nearly fainting," she said fairly. "I should have taken more care in exiting the aisle!"

Although Harold gave her a conciliatory smile in return, he did not take his hand off her waist or retreat to a more respectable distance. The librarian didn't move away from her husband, either – even she was too shaken by recent events to demand perfect adherence to the strictures of propriety. And it was Harold's unabashedly distraught demeanor that especially unnerved her – except for the night in the high school when he faced the real possibility of being tarred and feathered, the music professor had never displayed distress to anyone but her. When they were in public together, he carried himself in the same elegant, devil-may-care manner as he ever did, regardless of anything the other River City-ziens happened to witness (or _think_ they witnessed) between the two of them. No matter what happened, the charming former charlatan always acted as though being found in compromising situations was a matter of course – and until quite recently in his life, it probably was. But now, Harold possessed none of his usual poise. When he grinned, it was a shadow of his merry rictus, and when he spoke, there was a slight stammer in his voice that further betrayed just how rattled he was:

"Why don't we take an early, long lunch? And then perhaps we can treat ourselves to a strawberry phosphate for dessert?"

"I'd like that," Marian replied, her own voice a little shaky. "I'll inform Miss Peabody of our plans, and then we'll go straightaway."

As Tommy and Zaneeta continued to regard the adults with hushed, solemn expressions, Harold gave the librarian an approving nod and finally let go of her. But as the four of them exited the ancient languages aisle and approached the spiral staircase, Marian recovered enough of her composure to engage in a brief, whispered debate with her husband about how best to assure her uneventful descent to the first floor. In the end, they compromised: Harold did not hold on to her waist or hand as he would have liked to, but she did allow him to go down in front her so he could catch her if she swooned again. Eager to provide what assistance they could, Tommy and Zaneeta hovered over the librarian from behind. While this odd escort did attract the attention of the library's patrons – chivalrous to a fault, the music professor had never walked before his wife or any other woman in River City – it wasn't inappropriate or interesting enough to merit much more than a curious glance and, before the librarian and her train stepped off the last stair, everyone had returned to their reading.

Fortunately, Marian didn't have to look far for her assistant – Miss Peabody was standing at the front desk, happily engrossed in the project the librarian had assigned earlier that morning. However, to Marian's consternation, when Miss Peabody looked up and saw them approaching, her look of oblivious cheerfulness was replaced with concern, and she immediately sprang into action. As she hastened around the desk, her elbow caught the edge of the still-overflowing book-return cart. The heaping stacks of volumes weren't the only things that went toppling to the floor – Miss Peabody managed to strike the cart with enough force to make the entire structure itself pitch forward. The woman's frantic efforts to catch it only made things worse; she ended up knocking into a display, which tipped over as well.

If the library's patrons hadn't been looking at them before, they certainly were now. Just as stunned as everyone else, Marian could only gape at the sheer chaos and disorder surrounding the main desk.

Ever the gentleman, Harold immediately went over to Miss Peabody and placed his steadying hands on her trembling shoulders. "Are you all right?" he asked kindly.

"Yes, I think so," she replied – though she was still wincing in pain and clutching at her elbow. "Thank you, Professor Hill."

Patting Miss Peabody on the arm, Harold returned to his wife's side. "Are _you_ all right?" he whispered.

Marian was still too stunned to speak. All she could do was goggle at the flustered and disheveled young woman she had hired to be her assistant. Unraveling the right thread had indeed revealed the mess beneath: her dress was as rumpled as if she'd been caught in a windstorm, there was a long, jagged tear on the sleeve of her blouse, her spectacles teetered precariously on the end of her nose, and her frizzled mass of curls had burst free from their chignon to stick out wildly in all directions. Jane Edna Peabody was a sorry sight, indeed!

The last shreds of her composure disintegrating beneath the librarian's inexorable gaze, Miss Peabody's cheeks crimsoned and she bowed her head in shame. "I'm _sorry_," she said miserably.

Even now, Marian's heart constricted to witness the wretched plight of this pitiable young woman. But after everything that had happened, the librarian was dangerously close to exceeding the limits of her own self-possession; she just didn't have it in her to offer a word of comfort or reassurance. Indeed, Marian couldn't trust herself to speak at all. She knew that if she opened her mouth, one of two things would happen: she would either go into a blistering tirade that was not only unnecessary but downright cruel under the circumstances, or she would simply end up bursting into tears.

Once again, Harold took charge. "Think nothing of it," he said magnanimously. "Accidents do happen, after all. I'm sure you'll handle the cleanup just fine. In the meantime, my wife and I will be taking an early lunch, followed by our usual strawberry phosphate and a long afternoon constitutional."

Although the music professor's voice and expression were cheerful, there was a definite air of authority in his demeanor that nobody dared protest. As Zaneeta and Tommy moved forward to help Miss Peabody restore order, Marian despondently resigned herself to the inescapable reality that she was no longer the sole mistress of her precious domain; turning away from the destruction, she allowed her husband to escort her out of Madison Public Library.


	3. The Taming of the Librarian

But Harold didn't take Marian to lunch, or to the Candy Kitchen, or for an afternoon constitutional. Instead, he brought her straight home.

Not that the librarian minded – this was a terrible time for her to be out and about, especially in her condition. Late last night, a thunderstorm had descended upon River City and brought with it a much-needed respite from August's stifling heat. When Marian left the house that morning, the air was still cool and perfectly pleasant for walking. However, as the sun rose higher in the sky, the temperature climbed again, and the weather was now just as insufferably sweltering as it had been the afternoon before. Still, despite the overwhelming heat, Marian was grateful for her broad-brimmed hat – it shielded her expression not only from acquaintances who might make nosy inquiries as to her health, but also from her husband's intensely watchful gaze. Although she attempted to put on her usual stone-faced façade, she couldn't help the smattering of tears that overflowed the rims of her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. Not that Harold was paying attention to her cloudy countenance at the moment – he was too busy concentrating on getting them home in one piece, gently but efficiently guiding Marian down lesser-traveled avenues to diminish their likelihood of being detained by unwanted society.

Fortunately, the music professor and librarian made it home without serious incident – even if Harold did miff a River City-zien or two with his curt pleasantries and brisk demeanor as the couple sailed by without stopping for conversation. But Marian's reputation for being a bit standoffish still lingered in the collective memory of the townspeople, so it was less of a surprise that she didn't return anyone's friendly greetings.

However, Marian could not maintain such an imperious distance from her husband. When their front door closed and she finally had to remove her hat, she didn't even attempt to hide that fact that her cheeks were not gleaming with perspiration alone. As soon as Harold saw the state she was in, he immediately came over and took her in his arms.

"Oh, my dear little librarian," he cooed, smoothing back a curl or two that had escaped from her chignon.

The storm that had been brewing within her finally burst into the open. "I don't need your pity – or anybody else's!" Marian snapped, briskly extricating herself from her husband's embrace.

Although Harold's expression turned bewildered at her violent dismissal of his overtures, he kept his temper. "It's not pity I was offering you, darling," he assured her in a mild voice that was nevertheless laced with hurt. "It's comfort – and sympathy."

"Don't patronize me," Marian said icily. "I know pity when I see it. And how could _you_ possibly sympathize with my situation? I'm the one who's paying the physical and mental price for carrying this child!"

At that, Harold looked stricken and offended. Perversely, the librarian was pleased that she had finally managed to goad her husband into something other than placid acceptance of her moods no matter how vile, and she waited with an unholy sense of anticipation for his blistering retort.

However, even though the music professor's countenance was now just as dark as hers, he somehow managed to retain his self-control. Gazing at Marian with the inexorably stern expression he adopted on the rare occasions when he laid down the law, Harold coolly informed her:

"Marian, you can say whatever you like to me. But I'm not going to fight with you in return. There's too much at stake for that."

Recognizing she had lost but refusing to surrender her dignity, Marian glared at her husband and replied just as coolly, "Do as you like. I'm going upstairs to draw myself a bath. And then I'm going to take a nap."

"Wonderful," Harold said sincerely but unsmilingly. "That's just what I was going to suggest you do."

Marian rolled her eyes and began to climb the stairs, looking forward to the solitude her chosen activities promised. But to her surprise and annoyance, Harold followed her.

Although her pride recommended she dismiss him with a glacial turn of the head, Marian was too piqued to remain silent for long – she hadn't been this irritated with the silver-tongued salesman since the evening he trailed after her in Madison Park and tried to entice her into sin through the promise of caramels! "What do you think you're doing?" she demanded to know. "Even if I _am_ pregnant, does that give you the right to follow me around wherever I go?"

Harold gave an abrupt, barking laugh. "Marian, believe me when I say there's nothing I'd love better than to make myself scarce right now, but my conscience won't allow me to do that until you're safely in bed."

"I'm not a child," she said rudely. "And I'm not an invalid – yet."

Harold let out that grating laugh again. "I'm just looking out for the interests of our unborn child," he replied in a glib voice. "It won't do the kid much good if, in a fit of pique, his mother suffers another dizzy spell and – God forbid – tumbles down the stairs or slips in the bathtub. Not to mention you can barely unbutton your blouse or remove your shoes and stockings without my assistance!"

"Ah – so I _am_ merely a vessel to you, then," Marian retorted provocatively as they reached the landing.

Harold's hands abruptly grasped her shoulders and turned her toward him until his face – red and scrunched up with fury – was mere inches from hers. Before she could react, the music professor caught himself, and his countenance cleared.

"Now listen here, Marian," Harold said seriously. His hands were still firmly on her shoulders, ostensibly to show her who really had the upper hand in this affair. "I'm not going to have another repeat of the library incident – no matter how many cutting remarks you hurl at me. From now on I'm going to make absolute sure that you obey Dr. Pyne's every last order – and there's not a damn thing you can do to stop me!"

Despite her disadvantage, Marian ominously retorted, "Perhaps – but I can certainly make it an unpleasant task for you."

"Oh, I have no doubt it will be a very unpleasant task," Harold concurred with a grim chuckle. "But I've had to put up with a lot worse in my life, I can tell you that!"

As Harold ushered her toward their bedroom, Marian pressed her lips together to prevent herself from speaking any further – although she wanted to say several things in response. But as much as she longed to deflate her husband's masculine pride with a disparaging tirade or perhaps even a good, hearty shove, she was too apprehensive of exacerbating her tenuous condition. And as much as she resented her husband's presence, she did require his assistance to undress. _But it certainly won't be a privilege he'll be enjoying for too much longer – practically or romantically!_ the librarian coldly reflected, consoling herself with the certainty that her condition wouldn't last forever. If she survived this ordeal, she would once again be the sole mistress of her body and spirit – and Harold would be a fortunate man indeed if she ever saw fit to welcome his embrace and run even the slightest risk of conceiving any more of his children!

But even in the midst of her anger, it was a difficult resolution to keep. Once they entered their bedroom – which was deliciously dim and cool, thanks to Harold's foresight in keeping the blinds lowered – the music professor let go of her, went over to the armoire and threw the door open. He then proceeded to shed his suit-coat and bowtie and toss them carelessly inside. As he went on to loosen his collar and roll up his sleeves, Marian watched him surreptitiously in her vanity mirror while she removed the pins from her hair. Usually, Harold disrobing was a show she quite enjoyed – and a mutinous part of her still felt that maddening twinge of excitement to glimpse his bare chest and the tantalizing hint of soft, dark hair peeping out from his collar.

But the spell was broken when Harold gracelessly plunked down into a nearby chair and removed his shoes. Remembering that her dearest wish was to be alone as soon as she could arrange it, Marian turned her full attention to her disheveled locks. She had just recently washed and set her hair, and she didn't want to get it wet when she took her bath. Not that it mattered, though. Thanks to the infernal heat, the librarian's blonde tresses were dreadfully frizzled and untamable – she looked nearly as daft as Miss Peabody!

Catching sight of Harold glaring at her and tapping his foot impatiently as she fussed with her hair, Marian felt a fresh resurgence of irritation, and considered her options. The last thing she wanted to do was undress and bathe in the presence of such an insufferable man – perhaps she could skip the bath and go straight to bed, which would only require the removal of her shoes. But one glance at her haggard reflection revealed a woman who was flushed and perspiring something fierce – she was in desperate need of cooling down. It was awfully tempting to dawdle and stall the inevitable for as long as she could, but a small kernel of rationality still held sway and she wisely decided to get things over with as soon as possible.

The moment Marian finished re-pinning her hair into a loose chignon, Harold moved in to divest her of her clothing. Although the librarian tensed up when he unfastened her collar, and remained stiff and unresponsive as he unbuttoned his way down her blouse, she couldn't help feeling a bit miffed that her husband did not drop a kiss on the nape of her neck as he always did. But she soon chided herself for such foolish sentimentality, and instead focused on appreciating that Harold did not bestow any unwanted affection (she refused to remember how lovingly he had buttoned her into her blouse that morning). Initially, Marian had been a bit nervous that the dashing former charlatan's sense of competition might be spurred by her coldness – perhaps to the point where he'd attempt to seduce her just to prove he could.

But even though Harold accomplished the task of undressing her with his usual nimble adeptness, he gave her no tender caresses – clearly, he was only intending to lend as much assistance as she strictly required. It was such a stark contrast to his usual method of removing her clothing – he had never before disrobed Marian in such an unromantic manner, not even when she was ill. It wasn't that Harold was unmindful of her delicate condition – he undressed her with care, but no warmth. Perhaps that was why, despite all the heated embraces they'd shared together, Marian felt a disquieting return of her maidenly reticence. She had thought the absence of intimate blandishments would be preferable under the circumstances, but such privation only fueled her sense of shame and loss. While Harold was in no way rough with her, his dearth of sensitivity reminded the librarian that she truly was the defenseless one in this equation, as much as she liked to put on airs about her ability to keep her bombastic husband in check.

Still, as awful as it was to be stripped in such a demoralizing manner, Marian refused to tremble – even if she couldn't contain the blush that made her cheeks even redder. And she refused to cry – even if she had to bite the inside of her lip raw as she slipped out of her dress. Desperate to save her tears for when she was finally left alone, the librarian tried to console herself with the sound reasoning and levelheaded logic she usually excelled at. After all, Harold wasn't trying to be cruel, even if he was upset with her. And if she was going to be entirely honest about the situation, she had to admit he was only taking matters into his own hands because she was so darn stubborn. So if Marian felt any humiliation, it was her own fault – she had brought this entirely upon herself.

But her husband's lack of affection still hurt, all the same. And Marian couldn't help being angry at him for it. When Harold turned her toward him so he could unlace her corset, she avoided looking at him, and tried to convince herself she didn't care that she could feel him not looking at her, either.

While Harold removed her corset with the same absence of emotion as he had her blouse and skirt, the baby started to squirm in Marian's womb. A corresponding twinge in her lower back made the librarian wince and fidget as well. Although she gritted her teeth, she couldn't repress a small grunt of pain, and her hand immediately went to her back in an effort to soothe the throbbing.

As Marian twisted in discomfort, Harold's hands paused to rest on her stomach. When the baby finally stilled again, the librarian also stopped moving and lowered her hand back to her side. Harold's hands, however, remained where they were. Sneaking a glance at her husband, Marian saw that his harsh expression had softened a little. When he finally resumed unlacing her corset, affection seeped back into his touch, until he was undressing her with such tender devotion that she had to bite her lip again. Marian even went as far as to stifle her sighs – although her body once again betrayed her by responding with goose bumps and pleasant shivers whenever her husband's fingers brushed bare skin. And when Harold's hands slipped inside her camisole to cup her breasts, her eyes fluttered shut and she leaned into his gentle caresses as he lovingly eased her out her of the final undergarment covering her upper body.

Still refusing to look at her husband, Marian kept her eyes firmly closed – even though she now felt the heat of his gaze riveted intently on her form. But Harold didn't linger where he was, instead turning the librarian around so he could apply his capable hands to the tension in her lower back. As he kneaded the kinks out of it, he began to murmur a tune:

_Lida Rose, I'm home again, Rose  
To get the sun back in the sky  
Lida Rose, I'm home again, Rose  
About a thousand kisses shy…_

Despite music being a key element in their relationship from the start, Harold had only just recently gotten in the habit of singing to Marian like this – a spontaneous demonstration of affection stemming from when her condition had progressed far enough for her to require her husband's assistance with her evening ablutions. His choice of song depended on the atmosphere between them – when they were exuberant he belted out _Seventy Six Trombones_, when they were tired he crooned _Goodnight, My Someone_, and when they were amorous he serenaded her with _Marian the Librarian_. Or, when Harold was up for a more heated interlude but remained unsure of her mood, he sang _Lida Rose_ until she sang back _Will I Ever Tell You_. And Marian had always sung back to him.

But she didn't today – not even when Harold sang softly and sweetly to her:

_Ding dong ding  
I can hear the chapel bell chime  
Ding dong ding  
At the least suggestion I'll pop the question…_

Although Marian remained quiet while Harold crooned _Lida Rose_ to her in his rich baritone, she could no longer contain her sighs as the pain in her back finally eased. And when Harold sat her down on the end of their bed so he could remove her shoes, she made no secret of her bliss as he applied his skillful ministrations to her sore ankles and swollen feet. But when he unfastened her garters and began to roll down her stockings – taking full advantage of the opportunity to stroke her thighs as he did so – Marian tensed up again, and sneaked another glance at the music professor. Was this a calculated seduction, after all? Even if she was in a more welcoming frame of mind, she wasn't about to give her silver-tongued charmer of a husband the impression she was _too_ easy.

But as Harold seductively caressed the back of her knees and meandered his way down her calves, his expression was solemn and he did not attempt to catch her eye. His demeanor, though clearly indicating his desire, was not that of a man seeking to impose his will or gain victory through sensual conquest. And there was still an element of restraint in his caresses – perhaps he was also nursing a bit of resentment that prevented him from fully capitulating, as well.

However, there was nothing showy or insincere about Professor Harold Hill now. He moved with the unaffected fervor of a man who wanted nothing more than to express his love for his wife – despite his bold familiarity with her form, he didn't demand anything from her in return. But Marian was nearly undone, all the same, and she had to stop herself from giving voice to the counterpoint that was echoing furiously in her mind as her husband continued to sing:

_Lida Rose, I'm home again, Rose  
Without a sweetheart to my name  
Lida Rose, now everyone knows  
That I am hoping you're the same…_

When Harold motioned for Marian to stand, he remained kneeling as he unlaced her drawers and tugged them down. As the last of her undergarments fell to the floor, he placed his hands on her hips and caressed from her backside down to her calves, his warm breath tickling the inside of her thigh as he crooned the final verse in a low, husky voice:

_So here is my love song, not fancy or fine  
Lida Rose, oh won't you be mine  
Lida Rose oh Lida Rose oh Lida Rose…_

Even after the song concluded and Marian stood completely bare before him, Harold's hands remained on her legs, and he began to kiss his way up her thighs just as sweetly and persuasively as he had the night before.

In response, her hands immediately came down to clutch his shoulders. Although Marian told herself it was only to keep steady – after Harold's attentions, her legs were like jelly – she did not attempt to put an end to his ministrations. And when Harold grasped her hips to arrest their precarious swaying, she could find no explanation for her actions when her fingers wound themselves in her husband's disheveled locks and she pulled him to her as he sat her back down on their bed. Because there was no explanation – simply the maddening and inescapable truth that she couldn't help loving Harold just as much as he couldn't help loving her.

And love each other they did. Although the music professor was gentle, ecstasy soon reduced Marian to a writhing, mewling mess; she knew nothing but pleasure until, after a seemingly interminable interval, Harold finally lifted his head from her lap. Seizing the opportunity to reciprocate, the librarian tugged her gasping husband up onto the bed with her. When Marian's hands feverishly undid his belt buckle, Harold did not resist her advances, and he was soon shuddering and moaning helplessly beneath her as she showed him just how clever her mouth could be in return. His climax came as swiftly and intensely as hers had, and soon they were lying quietly in each other's arms, flushed and sticky with perspiration, breathing heavily but still not looking at each other – sated but unwilling to admit just how effortlessly their mutual passion scaled walls of Jericho and crumbled them.

But when Harold finally spoke – he generally was the one to break the silence after their trysts – she could hear the usual playful mischief in his voice: "Well, Madam Librarian, I think it's about time we drew you a bath. Wouldn't you agree?"

Still refusing to look at her husband, Marian nodded, and allowed him to help her to her feet. Now that her euphoria had ebbed, her somber mood returned and there was a bothersome tightness in her throat. While Harold hastened to the armoire to retrieve her robe, the librarian found her way to a bedpost and clung to it in a desperate effort to stave off a resurgence of dizziness. As Marian strove to remain upright, frustration bubbled up within her once more. She was tired of feeling unwell all the time; tired of her heart overruling her head and urging her into terribly unwise courses of action. She should never have succumbed to temptation this afternoon – now she felt even more overheated and nauseous than she had before! And if that wasn't bad enough, giving into passion had only provided temporary relief from her emotional malaise – she sensed yet another storm looming on the horizon.

Fortunately, Marian managed to get herself under both physical and mental control by the time Harold returned with her robe. However, as he helped her into it, he dropped a soft but deliberate kiss on the nape of her neck – as if apologizing for his failure to do so earlier. Even if she had managed to prevent from becoming putty in his hands over that, Harold's lips continued to roam over her neck as he turned her around to fasten her sash.

Once Marian was decent, Harold lifted his head. But he kept his arms wrapped around her waist, and she could feel him looking entreatingly at her. There was nothing she could do but lift her head and meet her husband's gaze.

"Oh, my dear little librarian… " Harold whispered, his eyes filled with apology.

She collapsed into his arms and burst into tears. As they streamed down her cheeks in steady rivulets, the lump in her throat finally gave way and the sobs that had been massing behind it came out one right after the other, until Marian was hiccoughing and trembling and clinging to her husband so she wouldn't fall to the ground. But her spectacular loss of control didn't keep her from attempting to make amends as well – she raked her hands through Harold's hair and covered his face with as many kisses as she could manage in the midst of her weeping.

"I'm _sorry_," she said brokenly. "I'm so sorry… for everything I said to you this afternoon… and for the awful way I treated you… I don't deserve any of the tenderness you've bestowed on me… "

"Sssh," Harold gently admonished, tightening his arms around her. "Don't you worry about me – I'll get by. I was knocked a little off balance this afternoon, but there's no use holding grudges over frustrations that won't last forever."

Marian had to protest. "But you've struggled and sacrificed as well, and I ought to have been more considerate of that – "

"_No_, Marian," he said in a firmer tone. "My struggles are nothing compared to yours. Sure, I might have lost a few nights of sleep here and there and experienced a little vexation at times, but I'm not the one who's been going through an intense and difficult physical transformation. And I'm certainly not the one who's been losing a beloved livelihood, little by little. In that light, such mercurial moods are not only explainable, but to be expected! You're the one who deserves the extra consideration, not me."

"But I _am_ sorry," Marian insisted, hiccoughing again as she wiped away the last of her tears. "If I could only make it up to you somehow – "

"You don't owe me a single thing," Harold said magnanimously – although he looked gratified, all the same. Leaning in to brush her ear with his lips, he confessed, "It would mean a lot to me if you'd let me take care of you for the rest of the day. Let me do everything, Marian… just this once."

"Oh, Harold," she sighed, smoothing back the curls tumbling over his brow, "I want you to know that I'm going to curtail my shifts at the library from now on – even if it means leaving Miss Peabody to demolish the place. I can read the signs as well as anybody else – "

Harold gently placed his finger on her lips. "We'll talk more about it later, when you've recovered your strength," he promised. "Now let's get you into the tub – you're as red as a tomato."

Lacking both the will and the strength to continue the conversation, Marian submitted herself to her husband's care. Without another word, he led her to the washroom and drew her a bath. As she luxuriated in the wonderfully cool water and let it wash her worries away, Harold stayed in the room with her. Far from resenting his presence, she regarded him with quiet affection as she floated in the tub – immersed in this denser atmosphere, she could once again move with ease and grace. When the water grew still, Marian shifted slightly, enjoying the soporific sensation of being rocked back and forth. Feeling completely comfortable in her skin for the first time in ages, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to be lulled into a doze.

Although the sudden return of heaviness was disconcerting when Harold gently stirred her awake and helped her stand up, his tender kisses and caresses made the readjustment quite pleasurable indeed. By the time he finished toweling Marian off, helping her into a loose, billowy nightgown and tucking her into bed, she felt just as dreamy and content as she had in the tub. As the librarian lay on her side, her husband propped pillows in strategic areas to ensure her continued comfort. Once she was snugly settled in, he leaned over and planted a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"Sleep well, my dear little librarian. I'll be in the parlor if you need me."

"Stay with me," she entreated.

As Harold nodded and dragged a nearby chair next to the bed, Marian fought the inclination to drift off right away. There was still one more thing she had to tell him:

_Do I love you?  
Oh, yes, I love you.  
Will I ever tell you?  
Ah – yes…_

When Harold gave her a fond smile and softly hummed _Lida Rose_ in return, the librarian allowed sleep to claim her at last.


	4. A Stroll Gone Awry

When Marian awoke, things were just the same as when she fell asleep: Harold was still sitting beside her and gently stroking her hand. Only now, he was on the bed with her, instead of in a chair.

"Time to wake up, darling," Harold said tenderly, smoothing back the hair that had provided a nice little curtain shielding her face from the light.

Loath to leave her cozy little cocoon of unconsciousness, Marian's eyelids barely fluttered. "What time is it?" she asked groggily.

"Just a little past six," he informed her, leaning in to plant a kiss on her now-exposed cheek.

The librarian's eyes snapped open. "And here it was barely noon when you tucked me in – have I really been asleep that long?" When the clock on the bedside table and the length of the shadows on the walls demonstrated that it was indeed past six, her gaze alit on her husband, and she asked with flattered awe, "Have you been sitting here with me all this time?"

Harold chuckled; a rich, hearty sound. "Of course not – but not because I wanted to leave you," he amended when her face fell a little. He lay down next to Marian and wrapped his arms around her. "I had some things I needed to take care of this afternoon."

As he leaned in to bestow another kiss, this time on her forehead, Marian breathed in her husband's clean, familiar scent – and it struck her that not only had he changed into a fresh shirt and her favorite green suit-coat, his hair was impeccably coifed and his face was exceptionally smooth for it being so late in the day. "You bathed, didn't you?"

Chuckling again, Harold replied, "Why, yes – as a matter of fact, I excused myself to make use of the tub as soon as you were snoring away!"

Marian laughed in return – but she also gave her husband's arm a light swat. "I don't snore!"

He grinned. "Maybe just a little."

The librarian attempted to swat him again, but this time Harold caught her hand and laced his fingers through hers. "You didn't snore at all," he admitted, his voice now tender instead of teasing. "In fact, you slept so soundly that sometimes I worried you had gone into a full-fledged coma! I can't tell you how many times this afternoon I wanted to prod you a little, or pinch you, or cover your face with kisses – something to make you stir so I knew you were still with me. I did rest my hand lightly on your stomach at times, just to see if I could get a flutter, but our little one was just as quiet as you." He lowered his free hand to her stomach. "Still quiet."

"I haven't felt any movement since my bath," Marian confirmed. "I'm thinking the water lulled the baby to sleep. But that was over six hours ago… " She frowned, remembering all the nights in the past she'd been jolted out of a sound sleep by squirming and kicking. "If the baby has moved since then, I certainly didn't feel it… "

"I'm sure it's nothing to worry about," Harold said quickly. Lifting both his hands so they hovered just over her stomach, he gave several short, vigorous claps. Bewildered, Marian was just about to ask her husband what he was doing – until she felt a hesitant but definite stir in her womb, as if their little one was issuing a petulant protest at being so rudely disturbed.

No sooner than relief had entered Marian's expression, Harold grinned and lowered his hands back to her belly – just in time to feel the squirming. As their babe once again lapsed into stillness, Marian goggled at her husband. "Where did you come up with _that_ idea?"

"I asked your mother," he said sheepishly. "I, too, wondered why the baby wasn't moving. She told me our little one was probably fast asleep, just like you – but if I was really concerned, that was something I could try."

A tumult of conflicting emotions coursed through Marian at his words, and she didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the idea of her poor husband hovering nervously over her while she slept, unable to find peace or reassurance even after she had agreed to relax and let him take care of her every need. "You were that worried about me and the baby? Why didn't you wake me up to check sooner? I wouldn't have minded… "

"You needed the rest," Harold said simply, as if his worries had been nothing at all. He sat up and rose from their bed. "I wouldn't have disturbed you even now, but I thought you should eat something – especially as you skipped lunch."

As if on cue, Marian's stomach rumbled – and the baby gave another irritated wriggle at this fresh disturbance. "I am famished," she admitted. "But what shall we do for a meal?" Last she checked, the pantry needed to be restocked and she knew from past experience that like organization, cooking was another one of the skills that would never be her husband's strong suit.

But Harold gave her a proud smile and, to Marian's delight, retrieved the tray that she had somehow not noticed was resting on his bedside table. "Ethel made you some of her famous chicken soup, and your mother sent over some ham, potatoes, green beans and biscuits from her own supper."

"But what about you? Aren't you going to eat?" Marian asked, even as she heartily but neatly tucked into the excellent meal her husband had thoughtfully procured for her.

Harold chuckled. "I already ate my portion an hour ago."

As Marian laughed and turned her full focus to the delectable dishes in front of her, Harold bustled around their bedroom, lifting all the shades and opening the windows. The breezes that rushed into the room and stirred the linens were so wonderfully cool that Marian happily remarked on the sudden but welcoming change in atmosphere from the stifling heat of early afternoon.

"There was a loud thunderstorm that swept through River City around four o'clock or so," Harold told her. "Both you and the baby slept right through it!"

Marian gave her husband an affectionate smile. "The sleep did me a world of good – I feel so much better than I did earlier!"

"You do look a lot better, now that your normal color is back," Harold concurred, giving her a sunny smile in return. Sitting back down on the bed, he placed his hand on Marian's forehead. "You feel much cooler, too," he pronounced, the relief evident in his voice.

After Harold took her dishes back to the kitchen, Marian remained in bed, enjoying the cool evening breezes as they fanned her face and raised goose bumps on her skin through the thin nightgown she wore. The faraway clink of plates and cups and silverware as the music professor tackled yet another domestic chore made the librarian smile – even as part of her longed to handle the task on her own. But no matter how many crumbs her dear husband inadvertently left behind in the course of his cleaning and no matter how many dishes he ended up misplacing when he put everything away, not a single disparaging word would ever pass her lips. Although if she continued to require the extra rest to such a degree, perhaps it would be a good idea to consider having her mother come to stay with them a little earlier than planned…

When Harold reappeared at the threshold of their bedroom door, Marian's thoughts scattered, and she regarded her husband with a smile that held both fondness and desire. It was amazing, how the sight of him entering a room could still make her stomach flutter and heart race. Harold was always a handsome man, but he looked exceptionally put-together this evening with his dapper green suit-coat, tan trousers and two-toned shoes. Instead of his usual bowtie, he wore a regular one, tied in a rakishly asymmetrical "four in hand" knot. Coupled with his leaving the bottom button of his suit-coat undone, this gave his ensemble a wonderfully devil-may-care nonchalance that made Marian want to go over to him and tousle his chestnut locks, for added flair.

It was just too bad _she_ looked anything but desirable with her tangled tresses, wrinkled nightclothes and huge stomach she could barely see over as she lay flat on her back. Although Harold had once told her it drove him wild to see her in the first flushes of waking up from a long slumber, such times were when Marian felt her least attractive. She could never quite understand what he found so alluring – although she had to admit there was a definite charm to seeing _him_ with hopelessly disheveled hair and rumpled nightclothes, as well as feeling his stubble against her smooth cheek as he leaned in to kiss her good morning. And there was also a primal but undeniable satisfaction in breathing him in at his most natural and unadulterated, especially when they were in the throes of lovemaking…

Indeed, Harold was regarding his wife with his usual merry grin and hint of naughty mischief in his eyes. But while she was relieved her husband still seemed to find her alluring, Marian certainly wasn't prepared to welcome his advances – at least, not when she remained unwashed while he was groomed to perfection!

So she should not have been disappointed when the music professor did not make any suggestive remarks, nor did he attempt to engage in flirtation with her. "Now that the sun has started to set, are you up for a little stroll?" he asked chivalrously, extending his hand to his supine wife.

But she was disappointed, after all. Hiding her true feelings – and refusing to worry that Harold did not find her as alluring as she thought he had – Marian gave her husband a bright smile and allowed him to help her to her feet. "I'd love one!" she managed to say, and sincerely, too – after spending all afternoon at home, she could do with a change of scenery.

Once she was out of bed, Marian went right over to the armoire and selected her favorite pink-and-white organdy gown – her "Shipoopi" dress. With its low neckline and elbow-length sleeves, it was the perfect summer attire. Despite having acquired a beautiful and figure-flattering maternity wardrobe, the librarian had missed this dress so much her mother let out the seams for her, allowing her to wear it even as her pregnancy progressed. It was such a comfort to be able to don something attractive from yesteryear, especially on days she felt particularly ungainly. However, with at least another month to go, she could still get bigger and the gown had already been widened to its full capacity – if Marian grew any larger, she was going to have to put her beloved frock aside altogether.

But she refused to surrender to vanity's lament; tonight at least, the gown still fit. And there was no use in bemoaning a future that wouldn't last forever – she would fit back into her beloved dress soon enough. As Harold buttoned her up in loving silence, the librarian arranged her hair in a loose chignon that, while not as becoming as her banana curls, still framed her face charmingly. Gazing in the mirror, Marian was pleased enough with the results to beam approvingly at her reflection. The nap and meal had helped a lot – as she had told her husband, she looked and felt miles better than she had earlier that day. And now that she was properly dressed, she provided a much more suitable counterpart to her husband's dashing appearance – although with her Rubenesque figure, she was still at a slight disadvantage to his trim sleekness.

If Harold noticed the disparity in their shapes, he did not mention it. As she glanced at him with a coy smile, he looked back at her with such reverent adoration that she felt tears coming to her eyes. Surely, he was overdoing his display of admiration? But then he wrapped his arms around her waist and whispered in a voice just as ardent as his expression, "Darling, you have never looked more beautiful than you do tonight."

Marian laughed and blinked her tears away. "Oh, Harold!" she said happily, leaning back into his embrace and clasping his arms to her. "How is it that you always know just what I need to hear?"

A sly grin lit up Harold's face. "Well, I _was_ blessed with the gift of gab," he pointed out. Bending a little to kiss her neck, he softly added, "And did you really think I wouldn't notice how wistfully you've been gazing at your reflection while I dressed you?"

"Oh, so you're simply flattering me to console me, is that it?" she teased, just as impish as he'd been a moment ago.

Harold's mouth, which was meandering over her neck, froze in its ministrations. When he lifted his head to look at her in the mirror again, he looked so grave that the librarian gasped a little. Before she could apologize for offending him, Harold tightened his arms around her waist and fully closed the distance between the two of them. Marian gasped again – even through their layers of clothing, she could feel her husband's desire as plain as if they were both standing merely skin to skin.

"Is _that_ mere flattery, Madam Librarian?" Harold asked in a low voice that was not his usual suave purr, but had the definite hint of a growl in it.

Out of sheer longing, Marian pressed against her husband in return, her eyes fluttering shut as she reveled in this proof her husband still found her alluring. Letting out a groan that was both pained and eager, Harold grasped her hips and thrust against her once more. As they moved together in a pantomime of lovemaking, his mouth found her neck again, and soon Marian was moaning along with him. Instead of soft kisses, Harold gave her such passionate love-bites that even as she wondered if she'd have to go around in high collars for the next few days, she did not care because it seemed such a petty concern in the face of such intense pleasure. And then it became a moot point entirely when Marian turned her face to his and their lips met for a deep, knee-weakening kiss.

Such unrestrained fervency wasn't really any different than the passion Harold had displayed on their honeymoon – or during their first several months of marriage, for that matter. But as Marian's pregnancy advanced, she had gotten so used to him loving her with gentle kisses and languorous caresses that his sudden ardor was rather astonishing – even their passionate reconciliation earlier that afternoon had been achieved with just hands and mouths. But now Harold kissed and caressed her as if he planned to tear off her clothing, take her to bed and make love to her as fully and deeply as he had on their honeymoon. With a start, Marian calculated it had been at least a month since they had made love in the traditional manner and, after so many weeks of being handled with kid gloves, she realized just how badly she wanted and needed this – her body craved Harold's in a way it hadn't for quite some time. And she was confident she was up to the task – after an afternoon of rest and nourishment, she felt anything but fragile.

But as Marian turned in her husband's arms so she could completely melt into his embrace, Harold straightened and moved away from her.

"We'd better stop," he said regretfully – sounding as if he'd never regretted ending anything more in his life.

"Must we?" Marian asked with breathless disappointment.

"Work before pleasure, my dear little librarian," Harold admonished with a twinkle in his eyes, his good humor returning even though his breathing remained as ragged as hers. "We have things to discuss, which is why I invited you on a stroll in the first place – I figured it would be best to get out of the house so we wouldn't be distracted." He wagged his finger at her. "And we'd better leave now – or I have the feeling we won't be going anywhere for the rest of the evening!"

Her surprise trumping her desire – even after a solid year of transformation from hedonistic charlatan to devoted husband, it still amazed her to hear him express such responsible sentiments – Marian recovered her composure and gave her husband a resigned smile. "I suppose you're right," she conceded. "But let me freshen up first."

As Harold retreated to wait respectfully for her by their bedroom door, Marian examined her reflection in the vanity mirror. Despite her husband's less-than-delicate handling, her chignon and gown had emerged relatively unscathed from their heated embrace, only requiring minor adjusting to smooth things back into place. Her neck was also remarkably pristine, although Harold's eager mouth had made a small mark near her collarbone. But it would likely fade within the hour; until then, she could easily cover it up with a shawl.

Once Marian was suitably attired, she took Harold's arm and they made their way downstairs, their behavior as appropriate as if they were already in public. When her husband didn't even attempt to give her hand a furtive squeeze or her arm an affectionate pinch, the librarian had to stifle an amused smile as she reflected what an interesting reversal of circumstances this evening was turning out to be. Whereas she was more than willing to delay their conversation for a little while longer, Harold had insisted on getting right down to business. If Marian hadn't known it before, she certainly understood now just how easy the former conman must have found it to employ sensual bliss (or at least the promise of it) in order to evade an issue. He could have done this tonight, and she would cheerfully have let him – she felt energetic and refreshed for the first time in ages, and she would much rather have spent such this rare and precious interval of fitness wrapped in her husband's arms, _not _talking.

But the evening was still young, as her silver-tongued charmer of a husband was always so fond of telling her (even now as they strolled quietly along the moonlit avenues, he gazed at her with a twinkle in his eyes that indicated he was entertaining similar thoughts). As Marian had already made wonderful progress that afternoon in coming around to the notion she needed to curtail her schedule at the library a bit sooner than she initially planned, their conversation shouldn't be too difficult or time-consuming. After giving it some thought over her dinner, she had decided to work on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays from opening until lunch; three mornings a week should assuage even Harold's concerns that she wasn't overtaxing herself.

Indeed, when the librarian opened the discussion by proposing her new schedule, her husband looked pleased and even a little amazed by her suggestion, and told her it sounded like a sensible schedule that shouldn't be too onerous for her condition – that is, as long as she wasn't planning to engage in strenuous activities like reshelving books. When Marian assured him her chief duties would be to serve as supervisor to Miss Peabody as she learned to accommodate all the responsibilities of the position, he relaxed even more.

Still, Harold's anxiety didn't disappear completely. "Your plan is fine by me, darling – as long as it can be renegotiated at a later date, should it be necessary," he stipulated – though there was a definite element of caution in both his voice and glance. "Necessary according to Dr. Pyne, that is," he gently added, untwining their arms so he could lace his fingers through hers in a more intimate fashion. "I am aware that as your doting husband, I might get a little _too_ concerned over your health at times."

Marian's grave and steady countenance gave way to the smile she could no longer suppress. "Harold, I'm prepared to go on complete bed rest, if the preservation of my health demands it. Although you might not have been the most rational about my condition, what loving husband is? Especially when he has to contend with such a stubborn wife!" Her smile turned rueful. "But I assure you, I'm going to be taking it very easy in the near future – I never want to go through another afternoon like this again!"

Now it was Harold's turn to smile brightly. But Marian's mood became serious once more – there were still things she had to discuss with him. "In all honesty, Harold, I would have curtailed my schedule at the beginning of August – if it wasn't for one thing."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Oh?" he inquired, sounding both skeptical and intrigued.

Feeling a blush rise to her cheeks, Marian drew a little closer to her husband and lowered her voice. "There's a certain, delicate… archival matter, if you will, that I'm not sure how best to handle. I thought perhaps you could help me determine the best course of action."

Now Harold looked wholly intrigued. "Marian," he marveled, "you're seeking _my_ advice on what to do with _your _books?"

Even Marian had to smile at the oddness of her request. "Well, you're the only one I can really talk to about this unique and sensitive subject."

Harold nodded and fell silent, waiting for her to continue.

Marian drew in a deep breath to steady herself, as she always did before embarking on delicate discussions. "As you know, Henry Madison was an intelligent and well-read man, and as such he amassed a great deal of books during his long life. He was also a well-traveled man, and quite" – the librarian paused for a moment to find the appropriate word – "_broad-minded_ in his quest for knowledge. In the course of his travels, he acquired several" – she paused again, and nervously cleared her throat – "_interesting_ books."

"Oh, really?" Harold interjected. "What kind of books?"

"Well, there's _Fanny Hill_, of course… " Marian trailed off and her blush deepened when Harold grinned at her. "There's also _Tom Jones_ and Mark Twain's short story _1601_… as well as several illustrated volumes of Pietro Aretino's rather scandalous poetry and satirical works."

"Well, those don't sound too horrible," he said soothingly. "Although I do agree those books are a little too 'broad-minded' for the average River City-zien and should probably remain out of circulation."

"It's not just that," Marian whispered with the guilty but exhilarated fervor of a girl divulging a great secret. "Some of the books in Uncle Maddy's collection are downright obscene – he possessed English translations of illicit Hindu and Arabic lovemaking manuals! Heaven knows where he managed to find such books… Mrs. Shinn and her ladies had a difficult enough time coming to terms with far milder works like the _Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam_ – what a shock it would be to their sensibilities if they were to glimpse even a page from _The Perfumed Garden for the Soul's Recreation_!" She laughed a little; a choked, almost hysterical sound. "They'd always accused me of being the purveyor of dirty books – little did they know how right they truly were!"

"Say now, I wouldn't go that far," Harold gently admonished. "Even if those books are questionable, you acquired them legally enough. Comstock himself couldn't fault you for being the recipient of an inheritance!"

Heartened by her husband's tactful response, Marian laughed again, this time with more joy and ease. "Oh, Harold – you don't know how good it feels to finally tell all this to someone, even if I still don't know what to do about it. When I found these books while cataloguing Uncle Maddy's collection, I was at a complete loss as to how to proceed – and I couldn't risk telling anyone what I'd found, lest my reputation suffer even more!"

"Yes – I'm surprised you didn't destroy the books outright," he observed.

"_Destroy_ them?" Scandalized, Marian backed away from her husband. "I would never do that! Just because a book deals more frankly with lascivious subject matter than perhaps is proper doesn't mean it should be discarded altogether – especially if the book in question possesses any literary, educational or historical merit. Despite his inclination toward the risqué, Uncle Maddy was a man of discernment – he always frowned upon lurid dime novels and cheap romances, and would scold me if I so much as mentioned Eleanor Glyn's name in his presence!"

"Of course – I should have known better than to make such a suggestion!" Harold said with a laugh. "You're a true librarian, darling… although I take it you would have had absolutely no problem destroying the books if they had been a passel of Eleanor Glyn novels?"

Even though he said this with a wink, Marian found herself giving the matter serious consideration. "I don't know," she said honestly. "I never was one for censorship."

Harold regarded her with a mixture of amusement and admiration. "And this is the opinion of the woman who never hesitates to remove books from circulation when she deems it necessary?"

"Knowledge should be disseminated wisely, by those who are capable of discerning what their patrons can abide," Marian countered. "While I do indeed remove books from circulation from time to time, the narrow-mindedness of a town is no reason to destroy such rare and diverse repositories of knowledge! And," she confessed, feeling that irksome blush radiating from her countenance once more, "in certain circumstances they have proven invaluable for enriching understanding on subjects that are vital to comprehend but difficult to obtain information about."

To her surprise, Harold did not make a teasing remark. Instead, he simply gave her hand an affectionate squeeze and turned his gaze to the road ahead. But his amusement was clear – there was now a Cheshire-cat grin on his face and his shoulders shook slightly, as if he were laughing inwardly at some private joke.

Although Marian was grateful to him for his restraint, his beaming expression irked her so much she had to ask him what in heaven's name he found so entertaining.

Harold's silent laughter burst out into the open. "Mr. Madison's old book collection certainly explains a few things about our honeymoon… and Christmas Eve, too! I'd always wondered just how a wholesome librarian in the heart of the Midwest managed to immediately recognize the passages I whispered in her ear that night… "

"Oh, Harold!" Marian exclaimed – but she laughed as well, even as she gave him a sharp swat on the arm that he did not duck in time, as mirth had dulled his lightening reflexes. "My behavior on our honeymoon was _not_ inspired by anything in those dreadful Hindu or Arabic manuals, I'll have you know!"

"Indeed?" Harold asked, his laughter leveling off into a mischievous chuckle. "Then what books did you consult, Madam Librarian? You certainly couldn't have gotten such delightful ideas from some incomprehensible medical tome or dour marriage pamphlet… "

In response, Marian merely gave her husband a coy smile. In addition to the foreign works, which were rather shocking in their nonchalance about such sensitive subject matter, there were instructional tracts by the much more contemporary but still controversial Ida Craddock – tracts that had proved quite helpful, indeed. But she needn't reveal all her secrets.

Thinking it was high time they got back to business, Marian frowned at her still-laughing husband. "I'm glad you find my plight so diverting, Professor Hill," she said sardonically. "But do you have any ideas as to what I should do about these potential liabilities to the library and my vocation?"

Harold subsided at once. "Where are the books now?"

"They're in a locked trunk in the closet of the archives room."

"Well, why can't you just leave them where they are?" he asked with a shrug.

"Because Miss Peabody is certain to stumble across them at some point," Marian said anxiously. "Right now I'm the only one who has access to the archives. But when I take my leave of absence I'll have to give her all the keys to the library. With her mania for organization, she'll probably discover the books less than a week after I'm gone. And with her penchant for innocently letting things slip, who knows just when we'll run afoul of anti-obscenity statutes!"

Harold nodded, looking deep in thought. "How many books would you say there are that could potentially make trouble for the library?"

The librarian ran a rough tally in her mind. "There are probably about twenty-five such books, overall."

"Well, that's not so many!" he said cheerfully. "Perhaps we could move them to our attic for safekeeping."

Marian smiled; she had been hoping Harold would suggest that. It was an idea she had also considered, but as she wasn't in good enough shape to ferry the books home in one trip, she'd initially dismissed the notion as impractical. But now that Harold was in on the secret, he could easily arrange for the books to be moved all at once – and not only that, he could accomplish this task with such panache and flair that no one would ever discover the existence of the questionable volumes.

"If the books are in a nondescript trunk, it shouldn't be too difficult to transport them without arousing dangerous levels of suspicion," Harold mused, deep in full-plotting mode. "And we can keep them in our attic until we get a better idea of how trustworthy Miss Peabody is when it comes to keeping such things private."

"Then those books will be sitting in our attic indefinitely," Marian said glumly. "I barely trust Miss Peabody to maintain the circulated works without causing some kind of scandal or pandemonium!"

Harold smiled, and his eyes began to gleam with merriment once more. "Miss Peabody will learn as she goes along," he said fairly. "Except for the unfortunate return-cart incident this afternoon, hasn't she proven herself an able assistant?"

"She won't be much of an assistant if there's no longer a library to look after," the librarian retorted. "Any more fiascos like that, and she'll end up demolishing the place!"

Her husband's mirth bubbled up again. "Well, I didn't hear a single explosion all afternoon, so it seems she's been managing just fine!"

Marian sighed. "Jane Edna Peabody is hardworking, enthusiastic and eager to please… but her bubbly clumsiness presents a serious detriment. I'm not sure if she'll ever be ready to take the reins of Madison Public Library all by herself!"

During their entire stroll, Harold had guided her forward in a leisurely but constant pace even – or perhaps because – they'd been discussing the most volatile of subjects. But now, for the first time since they had left the house, he brought Marian to a halt, took both her hands in his and lightly tugged her toward him until they were standing face to face. "My dear little librarian, you've got to stop worrying so much," he said gently. "You've picked a fine assistant. She _is_ quite young and prone to a bit of clumsiness, but once age and experience smooth out her rough edges, Madison Public Library will have a dependable and devoted custodian for a long time to come."

Despite her misgivings, Marian couldn't help brightening at the steadfast confidence in her husband's voice. "Do you really think so, Harold?" she asked hopefully. "It would be such a relief if I could focus wholly on preparing for the arrival of our little one, instead of worrying about what will happen to the library… "

He gave her hands a sympathetic squeeze. "I know that, darling. And you _can_… "

Their tête-à-tête was abruptly interrupted when Mrs. Shinn, Mrs. Squires and Mrs. Grubb rounded the corner to the secluded avenue husband and wife currently inhabited. When the ladies saw Marian, they immediately ceased in their chatter and their sharp, avid gazes locked squarely on her. The librarian had experienced this before, and knew it was the eerie pause before the cyclone descended – they were about to march over and start peppering her with questions.

Before Marian could even think of how best to evade this looming obstacle – if she let them detain her with their well-meaning but interminable concern, she'd never make it to the footbridge that evening – Harold swiftly moved in front of her and executed a particularly elegant bow to the ladies, which made them laugh almost girlishly.

"And a pleasant good evening to you all!" he warmly greeted them. "Ladies, you're looking very well – and Mrs. Shinn, if you aren't as graceful as ever! Delsarte himself couldn't find a better example of style and refinement."

"Oh, you do go on, Professor Hill!" Mrs. Shinn tittered with a dismissive wave – although she looked quite flattered, all the same. Mrs. Squires and Mrs. Grubb smiled as well during this interchange, but not as warmly – even the ever-giggling Mrs. Grubb possessed a certain amount of chariness at such fawning pleasantries from Professor Hill, especially when they were bestowed upon the mayor's wife.

But Harold's grin only broadened, and he turned the full measure of his charm on the ladies. "Mrs. Squires, the roses in your cheeks are enchanting this evening – I've never seen a woman who agreed so well with August's humidity! And my dear Mrs. Grubb – is that a new hat? The color brings out your eyes beautifully."

While on the whole they were handsome ladies who took great pains with their appearances, a more objective observer would have had to admit they were not at their best on this particular occasion. In truth, Mrs. Squires' cheeks were beet-red and glistening with a rather unbecoming sheen of perspiration, while Mrs. Grubb's lavender hat washed out her complexion and certainly did not complement her coloring as well as a richer shade of purple would have done. But Harold delivered these compliments with such sincerity of feeling that the ladies beamed with genuine delight.

As Harold placed his hand on the small of Marian's back and motioned her forward, she managed to suppress her giggles long enough to give the women a cordial nod as they approached. In return, they regarded her with kind smiles and, still glowing from Professor Hill's effusive praise, allowed the couple to pass unimpeded.

As soon as the ladies had disappeared around the corner and were out of earshot, the librarian's relieved laughter erupted in earnest – and Harold responded to her mirth with a well-pleased chuckle as he whisked her off the paved road and down a more-secluded avenue so they could continue their conversation uninterrupted. Fortunately, they didn't have much further to go until they reached their destination, so another such interlude was unlikely. Still, Harold quickened their pace as they reached the end of the paved roads and their footing became a little more uncertain on the dew-soaked grasses. But even though the ground was still a bit soft and muddy from that afternoon's rainstorm, the music professor swiftly and expertly guided his wife to the safety of the footbridge's sturdy wooden planks.

By the time Harold brought her to a halt again, Marian was gasping for breath – but not so much from exertion as with glee; it had been ages since she'd last felt this alive! Realizing her husband would be anxious about her health, she turned to face him with a joyful smile. Indeed, Harold was regarding her with some concern, and he carefully looked her up and down. But when he finished his examination of her person and their eyes met, his lips parted slightly and he stared at her, seemingly entranced by the vision before him.

Marian couldn't help giggling again. She was certain she must have looked a sight by now – more strands had escaped from her already-loose chignon during their abrupt jaunt and her cheeks felt warm and flushed; she half-expected her husband to pay her an outrageously exaggerated compliment as he had the ladies.

But Harold didn't say a single word. Instead, almost before she knew it, he had wrapped his arms tightly around her and was covering her face in ardent, almost desperate kisses, as if he couldn't get enough of her. Her levity dissipating, Marian's mouth eagerly sought and found her husband's, and she demonstrated her desire for him just as warmly and wordlessly as he expressed his yearning for her.

When Harold finally ended their embrace – to Marian's chagrin – he looked anything but insincere. "Marian," he said, sounding just as breathless as she felt, "I've got something I've been wanting to show you."

Reaching into the inside breast pocket of his suit-coat, he pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. As he unfolded it, Marian recognized the page of incriminating information that she had torn out of the _Indiana Journal of Education_ to protect him from being discovered as a fraud.

"I can't believe you still have that!" she gasped, reaching out to gingerly touch the ragged edge of the page with her fingertips.

Harold smiled and shrugged; if the light had been a little brighter, Marian could have sworn he was blushing. Before she could determine whether this suspicion was correct, her husband stowed the page back in his pocket and took her in his arms again. "As I said before – you are my world, Marian," he whispered, burying his face in the crook of her shoulder. "This piece of paper is what made my new life possible – and so I keep it safe and close to my heart, just as you keep careful watch over River City's repository of knowledge." He lifted his head a little, and began to trace his lips lovingly along her cheek and neck. "This town needs you just as much as I do, Marian. As for me, I can't even begin to fathom a world without you in it. That's what I meant earlier, when I said I couldn't go on seeing you fade like that – to lose you would be to lose everything… "

Although Marian was weary of weeping and had promised herself she would henceforth do a better job of maintaining her composure, she couldn't prevent a tear or two from rolling down her cheek at her husband's tender words.

After pausing to kiss those tears, Harold moved away a little and looked her in the eyes. "I should never have lost my temper with you earlier this afternoon… " He paused, and his normally steady voice started to waver. "I was concerned and, although I had good reason to be at the time, I expressed myself very badly. I hope you can forgive me… "

More tears escaped. Still, Marian persevered in her quest for equanimity, her voice quiet but resolved as she replied, "There's nothing to forgive, Harold. I had no right to say such cruel and hurtful things to you – especially after everything you've done for me! As I've told you before, no woman could ever want a kinder, more considerate husband." She gave him a sidelong glance before bowing her head as she began to weep in earnest. "However, I'm quite sure that _you_ deserve a kinder, more considerate wife… "

Harold gathered her into his arms again, his voice just as a firm as his embrace as he told her, "You're the only wife I want, Marian."

Marian buried her face in her husband's comforting shoulder. "I _hate_ how pregnancy has turned me into such a shrew," she said sadly. "I used to pride myself on my ability to keep a level head, and now I turn into an ill-tempered mess at the slightest inconvenience or upset! However can you stand me, Harold?"

"Oh, darling," Harold said soothingly, "you're not as difficult as you think. In fact, I can't tell you how often I'm amazed by your grace and forbearance! On the whole, you've been a lot better to me than I deserve."

Marian laughed a little through her tears. "You _must_ be besotted with me, to say such things – and mean them! But I shouldn't have lost my temper, unfairly or not. It's bad for the baby's health to indulge in such petulant moods."

"Trying to bottle up your frustrations can be just as harmful," Harold countered. "And everyone has a breaking point. I knew yours was fast approaching, which is why I've been visiting the library so often lately. When you finally did lose your temper, I was glad it was when you were alone with me. I'd much rather take the brunt of your anger, and not have Miss Peabody be the unlucky recipient of it. I _should_ be the one to get it from you – after all, I was the one responsible for getting you into your present state in the first place… " He trailed off and tensed up a little.

"What is it?" Marian whispered, feeling that uncomfortable sense of dread in the pit of her stomach again. For the first time during their stroll, the baby squirmed.

Smiling ruefully, Harold placed one of his hands on her stomach. "Sometimes I wonder if it would have been better for you if we waited a little while before trying to start a family… "

Stunned and dismayed that her husband was shouldering such undeserved guilt on her account, Marian refused to let him think such things for a moment longer. "Oh, Harold – it wouldn't have made the slightest difference if we waited! I would have been too stubborn and slow to accept my physical limitations whether the onset of my condition happened this year, next year or even several years from now."

Harold smiled at this insistent assurance, but he also shifted in her embrace and lowered his gaze, as if he couldn't quite bring himself to believe her words.

But Marian was not going to allow him to bear such an unwarranted burden, even if he refrained from admitting the full extent of his qualms about the matter. Cupping his cheeks in her hands, she lifted his head until he had to look her in the eyes again. "Harold," she said, softly but with conviction, "I have no regrets about how or when things happened. Not a single one. I have loved you, and wanted you, just as much as you have loved and wanted me. And not only did I know full well the potential consequences of our frequent congress, I _hoped_ for them! I hoped for them with all my heart, Harold." She paused and regarded her husband with a blushing smile. "I've been praying for a child since our first night together. I can't tell you how happy I am that it happened so quickly for us – "

Whether it took a few minutes, several hours or even the whole rest of the night, Marian was prepared to keep talking until she saw the anxiety and doubt ebb from Harold's expression. But she was cut off mid-sentence when her husband pulled her into a warm hug, his mouth descending on hers to give her kisses that were both passionate and grateful.

When they parted, Marian was pleased to hear her husband's familiar merry chuckle, even as he ruefully observed, "Mother Nature sure didn't split the burden of childbearing fairly between the male and female, did she?"

"Only if you are a seahorse," the librarian remarked with a sly smile.

But Harold remained serious, his voice laced with tender sincerity as he told her, "Marian… if I could, I'd gladly share the load."

Normally, when her tears were ones of joy Marian welcomed them. But she'd had more than enough weeping for one day – and as much as she appreciated her husband's uncharacteristic sentimentality, it made her a bit nervous that things were still not quite right with him. Hoping to provoke Harold into a more playful frame of mind, she arched a skeptical eyebrow at him and said, "Not many men think like you."

To her relief, it turned out Harold's mood was not as morose as she had feared. "Yes… I thought that's what you loved about me," he said with his Cheshire-cat grin.

Although that was Marian's cue to issue a swift and teasing rejoinder, something about his proud response seemed a little too glib for comfort. Deciding it was too early for such levity, after all, the librarian reverted back to honest confession. "It's one of many things I love about you. I love your devil-may-care smile – no matter how unwell I'm feeling, it brightens my day every time I see it. I love your vivaciousness and your charm and the confident way you walk into a room. I love being near you, whether we are dancing, walking side by side, or simply sitting together in our parlor. I love the way you hold me, and kiss me, and caress me. And the way your eyes twinkle still brings butterflies to my stomach." This time, the librarian didn't attempt to quell her happy tears. "I _do_ love you, Harold – 'to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach.'"

However, even her heartfelt admission could not cheer Harold. Instead of looking gladdened, he continued to regard her with the strange gravity that seemed to have taken inexorable hold of his expression.

"Why, what's the matter?" she asked, alarmed.

"Marian," he said steadily, although his Adam's apple wobbled wildly in his throat as he spoke, "I want to make love to you tonight."

Feeling an almost dizzying influx of relief and delight, Marian wrapped her arms around Harold's neck and pulled him close for a long, heated kiss. When they finally broke apart, gasping for breath, her husband dipped his head to nuzzle her neck and throat with his warm, eager mouth – putting him in the perfect position for her to crane her head and lean in, her lips deliberately caressing his ear as she whispered, "Take me home, Harold."

Without further ado, Harold ushered her off the footbridge and up the winding path back to civilization. Unfortunately, both of them had forgotten how soft the ground was, and therefore weren't as conscientious of their footing as they should have been. As a result, they had barely gone five steps when Harold stepped into a small sinkhole and went over on his ankle.

Nestled close to Harold as she was, Marian felt this mistake almost as immediately as he had made it. But even though they both lurched unsteadily forward she didn't panic and, as she attempted to counter his dangerous trajectory by holding fast in the opposite direction, she trusted that her agile husband would somehow manage to catch himself and straighten his bent ankle in time to avoid injury to them both. However, he must have felt such self-preservation wasn't worth the potential risk – and even with her girth he remained the heavier of the two, so they were still teetering dangerously forward. It wasn't until Harold let go of her that she was able to recover her balance. But while she righted herself back to equilibrium, he went tumbling to the ground.

"Harold!" she cried, dropping to her knees. "Are you all right?"

"Never mind about me," he said in a strained voice. "Are _you_ all right?"

"I'm fine," she hastily assured him. And she was – except for a wildly beating heart that continued to race when Harold's face blanched and he let out a sharp, involuntary cry as she lifted his pant leg to examine his twisted ankle.

"Leave it alone," he gasped. "The best thing you can do for me is to go get someone… "

"I just want to see how bad things are," Marian explained, trying to keep her voice calm. But it didn't look good – his ankle was purple and already starting to swell. "Can you move it?"

Harold gingerly attempted to wiggle his ankle, wincing and gritting his teeth as he did so. "It doesn't seem to be broken," he said with relief, his breathing still ragged. "But it hurts like the devil. Marian, you're going to have to get someone to help me home. Dr. Pyne would probably be best – he could bind me up. But if you can't get him, go find Marcellus."

Nodding, Marian got to her feet. But the sight of her husband sprawled helplessly in the mud was too distressing to turn her back on, and she hesitated. "Before I go for Dr. Pyne, let me at least help you to a more comfortable spot. The hollow log isn't too far from here – "

Harold vehemently shook his head. "I won't risk you injuring yourself trying to move me. Then we'll both be stuck here for who knows how long."

Although he made a good point, she still couldn't bring herself to abandon him. "But I can't just leave you here like this!"

Harold let out a laugh laced with pain. "Marian, I'll be fine – I've been in a lot worse scrapes than this. Why, this is nothing compared to Pennsylvania, Appalachia, or even Nevada – and in most of those cases I had the law on my tail, as well. Now go – and watch where you step!"

Loath to waste any more time in debate, Marian did as her husband requested. But she had barely made it back to the paved streets when she spied Miss Peabody barreling down the road toward her, her hair and gown only slightly less disheveled than they had been when Marian saw her last. Although the librarian tensed and prepared to alter her own path if necessary, her assistant brought herself to a halt before collision could occur.

"Why, there are you are, Mrs. Hill!" Miss Peabody said with breathless glee, as if the unpleasant events of the afternoon had never occurred. "I've been looking all over for you."


	5. The Taming of the Music Professor

It wasn't often that Harold berated himself for making a misstep, but once Marian disappeared around the bend in the road, he let loose a string of scathing epithets directed entirely at his own stupidity. What a damn, self-centered, addle-pated, single-minded fool he'd been! His most important job as husband and father-to-be was to protect Marian and their unborn child. But with his busted ankle, he was rendered almost completely useless. Worse than useless – he was a burden. For weeks he'd urged his wife to take better care of her health, but he'd forgotten that he had to take just as much care with his own health, too. After all, he couldn't possibly look after his wife if he was incapacitated! Somehow, Harold had neglected to take this crucial practicality into account. And that wasn't the only thing he'd overlooked – he'd been so focused on getting his wife home and making love to her that he'd forgotten how soft and uneven the ground was beneath their feet. And thanks to his wanton carelessness, his heavily pregnant wife was now wandering alone at night seeking help for him, when she was in no condition to be out and about without someone accompanying her.

But at least he had spared Marian and the baby from injury. If it had been her sprawled in the mud, writhing in pain from a twisted and possibly broken ankle, Harold would never have forgiven himself.

Earlier that evening, Marian was hotter for him than she'd been in awhile; he quickly figured that out when he went back upstairs to check on her after finishing the last of the supper dishes. The moment he entered their bedroom, his wife looked at him like she was in the mood for dessert – and he was it. It had taken a lot for Harold to resist her ardent but unspoken invitation – dressing her was a particularly exquisite torment, especially when she moved in eager tempo with his passionate thrusts against her backside – but he thought it best they get their discussion out of the way first. _Work before pleasure_, the music professor had told her. It went against his usual inclinations, which had always led him into hedonism that, while he didn't exactly regret, wasn't always the most beneficial course of action, either.

But perhaps Harold should have surrendered to his baser instincts, at least for tonight. If he and Marian hadn't gotten around to their long-awaited discussion this evening, they would have talked eventually; they always had before. Instead, he stupidly insisted on taking a stroll – and any good it might have done them ended up being overshadowed by this current catastrophe. And if Harold was strong enough to resist his wife's overtures in the privacy of their own bedroom, there was no reason why he couldn't have continued to ignore his carnal urges – at least until they got safely home again. He should have been more cautious!

However, even in the midst of his self-recriminations, Harold couldn't blame himself too harshly for being overwhelmed by his own ardor – it was pointless to bemoan characteristics that formed a large part of one's own nature. In truth, he could not have been more cautious because he was not a cautious man. He never had been – in fact, he wouldn't be in River City, married to Marian and running a thriving business if he were! And he wasn't a man who could resist temptation forever, no matter how noble his intentions were – when his alluring wife extended such a blatant invitation for the second time that evening, he could no longer refuse her advances. Especially as it had been a solid month since they last made love – caresses notwithstanding – and opportunities like this were steadily dwindling as Marian got closer to her labor. Although Harold trusted in the stubborn librarian's robust constitution, her pregnancy was proving a bit more challenging than either of them had bargained for; he felt sure it wouldn't be long before Dr. Pyne placed his dear wife on bed rest. And then – should things go the way they were supposed to – it wouldn't be just the two of them any longer. There would be a little one to look after and a long physical recovery for his wife as they both adjusted to the presence of a third person in their home.

As thrilled as he was that they were going to be parents, and as much masculine pride as he felt at having gotten Marian pregnant so quickly, Harold still wondered if they should have waited at least a few months before trying to conceive in earnest. But more-practical considerations had trumped this notion – for all his robustness, Harold was getting older (as evidenced by how easily he managed to injure himself this evening!). He wanted to know his children for as long as possible, and he wanted them to know him. And he had other good reasons not to wait – it could take months and potentially years for even a healthy woman to conceive, and there was always the possibility of running into the usual obstacles of miscarriages, stillbirths and everything else that could go wrong when a husband and wife decided to take the risk of bringing children into this uncertain and precarious world. But on the other hand, Marian was still young even if he was not, and she likely had years, and perhaps decades, of fecundity ahead of her. Had he really needed to rush into things?

It had greatly eased the music professor's heart to hear his beloved telling him, tenderly and unequivocally, that she had no regrets about her condition. And whenever Harold placed his hands on his wife's stomach to feel the stirring in her womb, or whenever he simply caught sight of the tender look on Marian's face as their baby moved, he felt elation mingled with the deep certainty that he could not have possibly planned things any better than what fortune, fate or the Good Lord had seen fit to give the two of them. While Harold was a man who firmly believed he was the captain of his own destiny, he also knew that he wasn't always piloting the ship – and this wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Some courses had to be charted according to their own timetable, children being one of them. And even though uncertainty pricked at his conscience and made him reflect on the motivations and circumstances that led him to twist his ankle, Harold couldn't regret expressing his ardor for his wife the way he had tonight.

Still… if only he hadn't been so foolhardy in his stride!

XXX

Although Jane Edna Peabody was not on the list of people she would have liked to meet on her way to Dr. Pyne's, Marian reflected that she'd take running into her assistant over an unexpected encounter with Mrs. Shinn and her ladies. Miss Peabody might not be the most useful person to have around in a crisis, but she could be dispatched fairly quickly, as the librarian felt no social pressure to waste even a moment on frivolous chatter.

"Good evening, Miss Peabody," Marian said politely – though she made sure to keep her voice a touch cool. "I'm afraid I can't stop to talk just now. Professor Hill has twisted his ankle, and I've got to fetch the doctor."

Her explanation complete, Marian was about to continue on her way when Miss Peabody reached out and took her by the hands. "Just a minute, Mrs. Hill," she said, her tone switching from deferentially cordial to breezily businesslike. "Where is your husband now?"

Stunned by the abrupt change in her assistant's demeanor, Marian could only gape at Miss Peabody. She had seen the young woman assume a take-charge manner with unruly library patrons, but her assistant had never dared to question her superior – let alone stop her in her tracks! Normally, the librarian would have been offended by such temerity, but when Miss Peabody repeated her question, she spoke with such an air of calm authority that Marian found herself replying, "He's at the footbridge."

Miss Peabody nodded as if this wasn't news to her. "Let me fetch the doctor, Mrs. Hill – you shouldn't be running around town on such a sweltering evening. Why don't you return to Professor Hill and wait with him, in the meantime?"

Although the young woman's tone was as kind and respectful as ever, Marian detected an undertone of firmness in her voice that indicated Miss Peabody was not going to brook any refusal in this matter; she seemed just as determined as any of the librarian's loved ones to preserve and protect her health. This morning, such interference would have been infuriating. This evening, Marian was too relieved to be resentful. While part of her remained anxious at the idea of entrusting their fate to her clever but clumsy assistant, Harold needed help as soon as possible, and the plain truth of the matter was that Miss Peabody could fetch the doctor far more safely and speedily than Marian could in her current condition.

"Very well then, I'll return to the footbridge while you go for Dr. Pyne," the librarian conceded. "And if the doctor isn't available, Marcellus Washburn will suffice."

As few River City-ziens were aware of the true nature of the history between Harold Hill and Marcellus Washburn (despite Mr. Washburn's firmly entrenched habit of addressing Professor Hill as "Greg"), Marian thought Miss Peabody would question or at least look bewildered by such an odd directive. But her assistant simply nodded as if this backup plan was perfectly normal and natural and, without further ado, hastened to fetch help.

XXX

When Marian reached to the footbridge, she was relieved to find that Harold had managed to get himself off the ground and over to the hollow log. However, although the music professor was perched on it in his usual casual and elegant manner (except for the slight grimace on his face, one could almost believe nothing was amiss), he was far from being the well-groomed figure he'd displayed earlier that evening. Not only were his trousers soaked and grass-stained, his suit-coat sported a few streaks of mud as well. Juxtaposed with his dashing demeanor, the image was absurd – but utterly endearing. Only Harold could carry off an injury with such blithe aplomb! Marian would have laughed if the situation hadn't been so serious.

"How's your ankle?" she inquired before he could even open his mouth to greet her.

"Much better," he replied – although it was clear from the diminished timbre of his voice that he was in far more discomfort than his devil-may-care appearance let on. And when the librarian knelt to examine his ankle, debonair went completely out the door: Harold winced and let out a howl of pain as she eased the leg of his trousers up.

"Well, it doesn't look any worse than when I left," Marian concluded with relief. But his ankle didn't look any better, either, and she regarded her husband with a stern expression. "You ought to be using that log to elevate your leg – sitting upright is not going to help with the pain at all!"

"Well, if I stay on the soggy ground I'm liable to catch cold, and that won't help me, either," Harold retorted with a grin, as if they were simply bantering. With a frown, Marian started to get to her feet – whereupon her husband promptly reached out to help her. Although she refused to take his hands for fear of doing him greater injury, she could not stop him from placing them beneath her arms to give her an extra boost as she clutched the log for support. And if truth be told, the additional leverage proved invaluable, as the ground was too soft and springy to provide a solid-enough base for her to rise without difficulty.

Fortunately, they both survived her ascent unscathed, although the exertion caused Harold's breathing to become a little too ragged for her liking. As Marian brushed the dew and dirt from her gown as best she could, her husband acknowledged, "This may not be most ideal position in terms of comfort, but it's the lesser of the two evils until Dr. Pyne or Marcellus can get me cleaned up" – he glanced over her shoulder – "and speaking of which, why aren't they with you?"

"Miss Peabody is fetching the doctor now," Marian told him. "So I came back to keep you company until he arrives."

Harold raised an eyebrow at her. "I thought your quick return seemed a bit too good to be true! But how did your assistant get involved in this fiasco?"

Taking a seat next to the music professor on the hollow log – her own ankles and back were starting to ache again – Marian informed him of everything that had happened since she left the footbridge to find help.

Although the librarian was still a bit bewildered by how quickly and decisively her assistant had taken charge of the situation, Harold grinned as if he couldn't be more pleased. "How fortunate that Miss Peabody happened to be near the footbridge this evening!" he marveled, a teasing twinkle in his eye as he added, "And a rather interesting coincidence, wouldn't you say? Perhaps Miss Peabody is courting a fellow of her own… "

Marian shook her head in good-natured exasperation. Such a scenario was highly unlikely, as it was not presently in Miss Peabody's best economic interests to entertain notions of romance. Nor did she seem the type of young woman to engage in frivolous trysts. She would have to marry well in order to support her family better than she was doing now, for to wed would mean surrendering her position – although the library trustees had consented to employing one married librarian, they would never countenance two such ladies. While Miss Peabody had a sweet disposition and was not at all homely, River City's affable but prosaic young men were too put off by her educational credentials to seriously consider her as a candidate for marriage.

But Harold knew all this as well as she did, so Marian simply replied, "Miss Peabody said she was looking for me – although I never got to ask her why, as there wasn't time for that."

"Yes, I gathered she was trying to find you… and she already knows you well enough to seek you here," he said with a wink. "It looks like you've gained your own 'eyes and ears,' my dear little librarian – just as I did in Marcellus." His arm stole around her waist. "Perhaps in this matter, Miss Peabody will demonstrate her worth – such a useful and practical accomplice can prove highly valuable, darling… "

The librarian shook away his embrace – the hollow glibness was back in his voice, and she didn't like it one bit. "Speaking of accomplices, I'm surprised Marcellus Washburn wasn't the first person I encountered! Apparently, he's found better things to occupy his time?"

Undaunted, Harold wrapped his arm around her again. "I certainly hope so," he said with a sly chuckle as he drew her closer. "After all, he's just as happily married as I am… "

Although Marian didn't doubt that deep down, her silver-tongued music professor did mean that sentiment, she was irked by such flippancy. So she turned her head away before her husband could kiss her. "For heaven's sake, Harold," she crossly chided, "how can you even _think_ of romance at a time like this?"

She felt Harold grow still next to her. "It's better than thinking about my ankle," he muttered just as crossly, his good humor gone. He withdrew his arm from her waist. "It's better than thinking about a lot of things… "

Marian's head, which had been bowing in remorse, snapped up to look at her husband, who was now staring determinedly into the twilit distance.

"Harold?" she ventured, her voice a gentle, open-ended invitation.

"I'll live," he said curtly.

Now it was Marian's turn to chide herself, which she did, inwardly. Aches and anxiety might have made her irritable, but she should have made more allowances for her husband's state of mind – clearly, his pride had taken a fair amount of bruising along with his ankle. Tentatively, she placed a hand on Harold's shoulder. He closed his eyes, but did not shake her off. When she began to stroke him gently, he still did not shake her off – but he did not relax into her caresses, either.

"Harold," she softly tried again.

This time, Harold turned to her, and Marian's eyes widened in surprise when she saw his face. Her husband's cheeks were undeniably crimson – and judging from the rueful look in his eyes, it wasn't the heat of the evening making him look like that.

"Marian," he said, sounding ashamed and apologetic all at once as he took her hands in his, "whatever made you pick an old fossil like me to be the father of your children?"

This was even worse than his forced attempts at lightheartedness; Marian scrambled to bolster her husband's deflated spirits immediately. "Harold, I picked you because I love you. If you had never come to River City, I would never have married. I couldn't ever imagine being with anybody else." Although the music professor was starting to look reassured by her words and she could have ended things there, she couldn't resist adding, "And for heaven's sake, Harold – you're hardly Methuselah!"

At that, he burst into laughter. "I most certainly am not!"

Relieved to hear the familiar merriness in her husband's voice, Marian laughed as well – but she wasn't done with him yet. "Oh Harold, it's ridiculously easy to twist an ankle if one isn't careful – I've done it before, and so has Winthrop. Practically everyone I know has injured themselves like that at one time or another in their lives."

"Still, this should never have happened," Harold averred, grave once more. He laid a hand on her stomach. "Especially not now – I can't afford for my ankle to be out of joint when you need looking after."

"But you can't predict or prevent every accident," Marian returned just as insistently, before softening her voice into a much gentler tone as she continued, "And when these things do happen, you need to let someone else do everything… just this once."

Harold smiled – that rare, honest and unpretentious smile he only ever gave her when they were alone. "Touché, Madam Librarian," he said tenderly, and leaned in to kiss her.

This time, Marian did not turn her head away. On the contrary – her lips parted as soon as his mouth met hers and she kissed him passionately in return. Ever mindful of Harold's injury, she did her best not to jostle him, even as she expressed the depth of her affection and ardor. But when her husband's arms tightened around her waist and he pulled her a little closer, it was exceedingly difficult to refrain from wrapping her own arms around his neck and raking her fingers through his hair.

"Oh Marian," he sighed as their kiss tapered off into a warm hug, "this will probably be our last rendezvous at the footbridge for a little while – with your condition and my ankle, it's probably best if we _both_ stay where there are people are within shouting distance… "

The librarian smiled and nestled deeper into his suit-coat, not caring that it was damp. "I agree," she said wistfully.

Harold chuckled and planted a gentle kiss on her exposed neck. "Although… there's a place over at Madison Park that's as secluded as you please – while still being only yards away from the pavilion."

"Is there really?" Marian asked dreamily, her eyes half closed as her husband's mouth continued to meander across the curve of her jaw.

Harold chuckled again. "Yes – and even though it isn't out of shouting distance, that little spot is so well-hidden it makes the footbridge and even the hollow log look like the old ladies home." His lips teasingly nibbled at her ear. "Until other events intervened, I was planning to take you there the night of July twenty-third… and maybe I will after our child is born."

The librarian let out a shocked laugh. "Harold – do you really mean that?"

He gave her a rueful grin. "Perhaps not in the way you think… the music professor has changed a lot since that July."

Marian's smile turned sly. "Well… so has the librarian."

XXX

As honest as Harold had been with Marian, and as much as he had revealed to her about his past, there were still some subjects – and desires – he considered too crass to confess outright. Although he'd always prided himself on maintaining a veneer of gentlemanly discretion when it came to love affairs, the sensual hedonism he'd engaged in would have shocked the sensibilities of most decent-minded people. Besides, since his transformation from unscrupulous womanizer to devoted husband, Harold had lost his taste for much of the debauchery that once made his pulse quicken.

But the music professor still enjoyed a little impropriety and danger in his lovemaking every now and then; for him, there would always be something decidedly attractive about the notion of engaging in an illicit tryst outside. Harold had certainly enjoyed his time with Marian in the faraway field last May – it had been well worth all the chigger bites he'd sustained during that warm spring afternoon. However, while the idea of making love to his wife in that secluded alcove near Madison Park Pavilion still made his pulse race to contemplate, such a base course of action wasn't something he would seriously consider. And while he might make teasing remarks, it certainly wasn't a fantasy he would tell Marian about in detail.

At least, it wasn't until now.

For the sly gleam in the librarian's eyes and the knowing smile on her face indicated that not only did she surmise what he was thinking, she found the idea just as wickedly erotic as he did. How he'd been lucky enough to find a woman who not only knew what he was, but accepted and even loved him for it, Harold couldn't fathom. The Angel of Death that Charlie Cowell had spitefully conjured for him was indeed perched on the music professor's shoulder the moment he stepped off the train into River City's freight depot – as soon as Harold had spotted Marian marching disdainfully by the commotion he caused on the town green, he was a goner. Over a year later, it was still a demise he wholeheartedly welcomed.

"Marian, someday I'm going to take you back to that faraway field," he promised her in a low, ardent voice. "And I'm going to make love to you there – _properly_."

The look of scandalized delight that lit up the librarian's eyes as she considered this notion was nothing short of bewitching. Heartened by this encouraging response, Harold tightened his arms around his wife and pulled her closer. "But first things first – we ought to make the most of what little time we have left at the footbridge – "

The words were barely out of his mouth before Marian's lips eagerly covered his. Knocked a little off balance by her zeal, Harold shifted in his seat to compensate – a move that promptly sent shooting pains up his left leg as his ankle was disturbed. Although he was determined to ignore this fresh discomfort, Harold could not prevent the grimace that contorted his mouth and interrupted their kiss. But he would not allow this disruption to end their embrace prematurely; as Marian gasped and attempted to withdraw, Harold shook his head and held her fast against him, his mouth descending on hers once more. Nothing short of divine intervention was going to keep him from showing Marian that while his ankle might be out of commission, there was absolutely nothing wrong with his hands or lips.

Thankfully, it didn't take Harold too long to persuade his wife that her anxious apologies were not necessary, and she was soon returning his kisses wholeheartedly. Yet their embrace was more bittersweet than amorous; any hopes of a more passionate encounter this evening now completely dashed, their kisses were no longer imbued with the ravening anticipation of tasting even sweeter delights. Instead, the music professor and the librarian were now engaged in wordless commiseration, bidding farewell to such romantic solitude for the foreseeable future.

XXX

Marian wasn't sure how long she'd been waiting with Harold at the footbridge, but enough time had passed that Miss Peabody was likely to return with Dr. Pyne or Marcellus Washburn any minute now. She'd had her moment with her husband and it was delightful, but now it was really time for the two of them to withdraw from their fervent embrace and sit at a more respectable distance from one another.

So said Marian's rational side. But the librarian was only vaguely aware of these sage admonitions; body, heart and soul, she was wholly under Harold's spell. Although she was quite aware of what her charming music professor was trying to prove, even her willpower had its limits. And it was really quite something to observe just how potent her husband's salesmanship remained, even when he was clearly in pain. Even though they held each other as innocently as sweethearts still courting – Harold's arms stayed firmly wrapped around her waist, and her hands rested gingerly on his shoulders – it was impossible to share even the lightest of embraces and remain perfectly still for the duration. Whenever they shifted, even just slightly, Harold's mouth would twitch afresh, introducing a discordant note into the otherwise languid rhythm of his kiss. In an effort to compensate for this recurring interruption, Marian did her best to provide a soothing and comfortable embrace for her husband, and was gratified to feel his taut muscles loosen as he gradually relaxed in her arms.

Perhaps this wasn't the wisest way to show Harold that he certainly hadn't lost his appeal in her eyes. But it was the simplest and most pleasant distraction she could provide as they waited for their caretakers to arrive. And did it really matter if Dr. Pyne, Marcellus Washburn, or even Jane Edna Peabody glimpsed the two of them engaging in a little light canoodling? Even if one of them later let something slip about what they saw, there were precious few River City-ziens who would be fazed by the knowledge that the librarian and the music professor enjoyed their strolls to the footbridge. Scandalized, perhaps – but not surprised. Still, Marian refused to worry too much about the potential consequences of their actions. After all, it was the arrival of trusted friends that she and Harold were awaiting. They weren't likely to be discovered by Mrs. Shinn and her ladies in this secluded spot –

"Ahem!"

At this interruption – the vocal chords responsible for this disturbance were clearly those of a female – Marian immediately separated her mouth from her husband's and turned to face the interloper.

Fortunately, it was only Miss Peabody. Marian had surmised this to be the case, but alarm had made her irrational – for a split second, she feared it really was Mrs. Shinn or one of her ladies! But the only other River City-ziens present in the vicinity were Dr. Pyne and Marcellus Washburn. Marian ought to have known her overly-thorough assistant would fetch both men; if the librarian wasn't blushing so furiously, she would have had to repress a smile of good-natured exasperation.

But in her scattered state of mind, Marian could only stammer, "My goodness – that was quick!"

A blatant untruth, but no one so much as gave her a scolding smile as she extricated herself carefully but quickly from Harold's arms. Although Dr. Pyne's, Marcellus Washburn's and even Miss Peabody's eyes gleamed with knowing amusement, the trio also appeared charmed and relieved by the tableau they had stumbled upon. Still, for all her rationalizations that it didn't really matter if she and Harold were seen, Marian found she was mortified at having been caught in such a compromising position, after all. She ought never to have allowed it! But there was no use crying over spilt milk; the best thing she could do was make herself useful to the doctor or, failing that, give him sufficient space to examine his patient.

However, as Marian rose to her feet, Dr. Pyne's expression lost its jollity. At his swift nod, Miss Peabody hastened over to Marian, placed her hands on the librarian's shoulders and guided her gently back into her seat.

"I don't wish to be in the way," Marian protested, although she did not try to stand up again – not even after Miss Peabody returned to the doctor's side to assist him with unpacking his bag.

Dr. Pyne chuckled as he knelt down next to Harold. "I'd rather only have one patient to worry about than two, Mrs. Hill," he said kindly. "With this soft ground and your condition, it would ease my mind if you remained seated." His smiling gaze shifted to the music professor. "And I think it would ease your husband's mind, as well."

"It would," Harold happily agreed, slipping his arm around the librarian's waist as the doctor rolled up his pant leg and got to work.

Giving her husband an indulgent smile, Marian allowed his embrace – although the sly smirk that popped onto Marcellus Washburn's face made her blush again.

But as it turned out, the man's impish mood was entirely influenced by his old comrade's predicament, and not the librarian's. "So, Greg… gotten yourself into yet another scrape, have you?"

Harold let out a sardonic chuckle. "That I did – and it's too bad your timing isn't as impeccable as it once was! We sure could have used you around here about forty-five minutes ago."

Marcellus's amusement merely deepened. "I learned very early on never to interrupt you while you were busy 'collecting your commission,' as you called it." He looked appraisingly at the music professor. "Although I guess you're probably working for free these days – I don't think I've ever seen you enjoy being in a scrape so much!"

Harold shot a quick glare at his former shill before tightening his arm around Marian's waist and breezily replying, "Yes, I'd have to say this is by far one of the nicest scrapes I've ever been in!"

But even his debonair charm couldn't smooth away such an uncouth remark. Thankfully, Miss Peabody was so wholly absorbed in assisting Dr. Pyne that she appeared not to have heard this exchange; her serenely oblivious expression indicated she had once again shut out the larger world to focus on the task at hand. But the librarian let out a shocked laugh and elbowed her husband. "Well! Is _this_ how you men normally talk when ladies aren't present?"

Marcellus tipped his hat at her. "Begging your pardon, Miss Marian – I know it wasn't the finest thing to say, but I can never pass up the opportunity to get one over on the old man, here."

"You're awfully lucky I'm too much of a gentleman to give that little remark of yours the comeback it so richly deserves," Harold muttered darkly – although his eyes twinkled with merriment. "But just wait'll I get you somewhere my wife _isn't_ present… "

"Pardon me, Professor," Dr. Pyne interjected, all business. "Now that I've cleaned things up a little, I need you to tell me if this hurts… "

Harold let out a sharp groan as the doctor gently rotated his ankle. "Say now, that wasn't too bad," he said with a gasp.

Marian, Miss Peabody and even Marcellus gaped at him with skeptical expressions.

"He's all right – it's just a sprain," the doctor reassured them. "If Professor Hill's ankle was broken, he'd be prostrate with pain right now. There is a great deal of swelling, but that will subside with a little ice and the proper elevation." He turned his attention back to Harold and started wrapping his ankle. "I'm going to bind you up for the trip home, and then I'll give you a fresh bandage once we get you settled… there, how's that?"

Harold gritted his teeth. "It's a bit tighter than I'd prefer."

Nodding, Dr. Pyne rewound the bandage; although to Marian's eyes, he only made it a hair looser. "I don't want to give any room for the swelling to increase if I can help it," he explained at her questioning look. "We've got a long walk ahead of us. How's your ankle now, Professor Hill?"

"Much better," Harold replied and, to the librarian's relief, he did sound a lot more comfortable. As Dr. Pyne gave a satisfied nod and packed up his equipment, the music professor leaned over to whisper into his wife's ear, "Are _you_ feeling well enough to attempt such a long walk?"

Marian let out an exasperated laugh. "Oh, Harold! You mustn't worry about me – I'll be just fine."

But Harold continued to regard her with unconvinced concern, and didn't release his arm from her waist until Miss Peabody stepped forward and assured him she would watch over the librarian in his stead. And even though Dr. Pyne insisted that the ladies walk about ten paces ahead so their caravan wouldn't attract too much inconvenient attention, Marian refused to walk so far ahead until she was certain her husband would be able to make it home without putting too much pressure on his injury. It was only when the doctor had Harold gingerly test his ankle – the music professor visibly relaxed when it supported his weight without too much trouble – that Marian relented to this course of action and set off for home with Miss Peabody.

Although Harold was flanked by both Dr. Pyne and Marcellus Washburn, Marian couldn't help casting anxious glances over her shoulder as they wended their way back to East Pine. Her husband's companions were fully alert and ready to provide more support if necessary – support that neither she with her bulky condition nor Miss Peabody with her reedy frame could readily offer – but the librarian was concerned by the ever-present grimace on Harold's face as he walked. And the music professor's complexion was a little too ruddy with exertion for her liking; perhaps she ought to slow her pace a bit so she could keep a better eye on him…

"Professor Hill will be just fine," Miss Peabody said soothingly, entwining her arm with Marian's so she had to face front again – and not a moment too soon, as there was a large pothole looming just ahead. As her assistant carefully guided her around this hazard, the librarian forced herself to pay attention to the road before them – it wouldn't do Harold or their unborn child any good if she injured herself, as well!

Although Marian's primary objective was to lead her husband home via the shortest possible route, she did go out of her way to avoid busy thoroughfares like Center Street. While the librarian hated to have Harold take a single footstep more than he absolutely had to, she did not want their progress to be hampered by the interest and alarm of passerby who were inclined to be inquisitive upon seeing such an unusual procession. Fortunately, due to the lateness of the hour – by now, it was nearly quarter to nine – they met hardly anyone in their travels. And to Marian's relief, the River City-ziens they did encounter merely offered polite greetings, despite their curious glances. When the librarian and her party had completed over half of the return journey without incident, she dared to think they might make it home unassailed. However, she refused to relax just yet – in the course of their constitutional, they were going to have to cross Main Street. There was no way around it; to avoid this avenue, they would have had to take a route that was far too roundabout for the music professor to manage on his injured ankle. As River City was a small place, Marian could not prevent the intersection of their path with all well-traversed streets. They were just going to have to take their chances and hope for the best.

As it turned out, luck was not with them tonight. As soon as Marian and Miss Peabody stepped into the road, who should they see but Eulalie Mackecknie Shinn, Avis Grubb, Maud Dunlop, Alma Hix and Eunice Squires striding in their direction. While they didn't have a prayer of outrunning this obstacle, they still had a few precious seconds before the inevitable onslaught occurred. But after such an exhausting evening, the librarian couldn't even begin to think of how to divert the ladies' attention. And Harold was certainly in no shape to turn on the charm as he had earlier, so they had no chance of easing their way out of this situation as they had before. Marian sighed; it looked like she was going to have to ruffle a few feathers in order to ensure her husband's safe transit home, after all. Squaring her shoulders, the librarian coolly eyed the ladies as they approached.

But perhaps luck was with the librarian, after all. Before she could so much as open her mouth to issue a hastily-constructed statement that was curt yet polite, Miss Peabody deftly disentangled herself from Marian and walked right up to the group. "Good evening, ladies!" she said brightly. As they all smiled and focused their full attentions on the woman who greeted them so amiably, the librarian gave a silent prayer of thanks for Jane Edna Peabody's eternally perky disposition. And she was further delighted when her bright young assistant enthusiastically continued, "How fortunate we've come across you all! Mrs. Hill and I were just discussing library matters, and we had the most wonderful idea for a 'Ladies Literary Luncheon and Tea' in order to raise funds to offset the repair costs of our book dumbwaiter. We hoped the Events Committee could help us with the arrangement and execution of this event – "

No sooner were the words out of her mouth than the ladies were excitedly chattering amongst themselves – the Events Committee was always on the lookout for new projects, and an event like this promised ample opportunity for cultural improvement, charitable involvement and social interaction – a veritable trifecta of Mrs. Shinn and her coterie's most avid interests.

During this ado, Miss Peabody turned to Marian and whispered, "I will rejoin you in a little while."

With a grateful nod, the librarian fell back to walk with Harold, Marcellus and Dr. Pyne. Harold gave her a knowing grin when their eyes met; although he did not say anything, Marian knew he was reveling in the fact that his earlier predictions of Miss Peabody's usefulness and practicality were right on the mark. Her normal response would have been to give him a frosty glare, as she did not wish to encourage such excessive pride, but his injury had brought out her more indulgent side, so she simply smiled and rolled her eyes. Chuckling, Harold turned to look at his own accomplice and, at the music professor's nod, Marcellus Washburn promptly offered his arm to the librarian. As her clever assistant discussed the extemporized event idea with the ladies in an animated fashion, Marian and the others managed to slip by completely unnoticed.

When they rounded the corner of East Pine, the first thing the librarian observed was that the lights of the charming Victorian were all blazing. As it turned out, both her mother and Ethel Washburn were awaiting their arrival with ice compresses and fresh bandages at the ready. Although Marian was eager to assist Dr. Pyne and the Washburns as they got Harold settled, her endeavors to lend her aid were soundly vetoed by all present. Accepting this decree with a weary smile, the librarian allowed herself to be ferried upstairs by her mother for a cool bath, and did not attempt to return to her husband's side until she had been cleaned, clothed and clucked over to Mrs. Paroo's satisfaction.

By the time Marian made it back down to the parlor, Harold was washed, dressed in his nightclothes, re-bandaged and resting comfortably on the sofa. To the librarian's relief, his complexion had cooled a bit and he looked a good deal more cheerful. While the twinkle in his eyes wasn't as robust as usual, she surmised that was likely due to exhaustion and not pain, as he reclined in a truly relaxed demeanor for the first time since he had twisted his ankle.

But Harold grinned as broadly as ever when he beheld his wife coming into the room. "You're a lovely sight for sore eyes, my dear little librarian."

Clad in her loosest and plainest white cotton nightgown, which was concealed beneath a modest and run-of-the-mill brown gingham housecoat, Marian felt anything but lovely. "You are ever the flatterer, Professor Hill!" she laughed, before turning to assess the activity in their household.

Although both the music professor and the librarian were clean and ready for bed, their caretakers were still in a flurry of activity. Dr. Pyne was repacking his case, Ethel was gathering the soiled laundry, and Marcellus, while not currently participating in the commotion, was standing alert at the foot of the sofa, should Harold require his assistance. Marian was especially pleased to see that Miss Peabody had managed to extricate herself from the Events Committee's interminable embrace, and noted with unsurprised amusement that her assistant was bustling around as busily as the others.

Indeed, Miss Peabody had been most productive, despite her late arrival. "I prepared a seat by the sofa for you, Mrs. Hill," she said, modestly gesturing to Harold's favorite wingback chair, which she had thoughtfully relocated and adorned with a blanket and small pillow. "I thought you might find it of use as you monitor Professor Hill's recovery."

"Excellent thinking, Miss Peabody," both Marian and Harold said approvingly – and then glanced at each other with glee at the coincidental synchronicity of their responses.

But Mrs. Paroo frowned at this exchange. "Make sure you don't sit up too late tonight, darling. You need your rest, too!"

Marian hid a smile as she turned to her mother and dutifully replied, "Of course, Mama."

Although Mrs. Paroo looked skeptical at this display of filial obedience, she planted a kiss on her daughter's forehead and told her she'd be over to help with supper tomorrow. When Ethel Washburn added that she left some chicken soup in the icebox for their lunch, the cloud of anxiety lingering over Mrs. Paroo's brow began to dissipate. And when Marian beamed and embraced both her mother and friend in a warm, appreciative manner, Mrs. Paroo departed with a sunny expression. Ethel looked similarly reassured and, as soon as Marcellus was convinced affairs were likewise settled with his old comrade, the Washburns departed as well. After reiterating his treatment instructions for Harold – he must apply ice to his ankle at various intervals, keep it elevated and, most importantly, stay off it for one week – Dr. Pyne also bid the music professor and the librarian farewell.

Only Miss Peabody was left now, and she looked vaguely embarrassed at having been caught alone with the two of them. Marian smiled encouragingly at her assistant, but there was a rather awkward silence until the librarian gently prompted, "Did you need something?"

"Forgive me, Mrs. Hill," the young woman said nervously, "I don't mean to prolong my intrusion, but I do not have the key to lock up the library for the evening."

Marian's eyes widened – in all the excitement of the evening, she had completely forgotten about the library! "Miss Peabody," she said in a strained voice, "who is minding the front desk at present?"

Miss Peabody squirmed guiltily. "Zaneeta Shinn." At that, Marian let out a sigh of relief, but her assistant continued to confess in a worried rush of words, "I know I should have remained at the desk and sent Zaneeta for the key – but that thought didn't occur to me until I was halfway to the footbridge! By then, it seemed too late to go back, even though I strongly considered doing so. But on the other hand, I thought perhaps it would be better to have the key changing the fewest hands possible. I apologize for my misjudgment, as I wasn't sure which course of action you would prefer I have taken – "

The librarian clasped her assistant's trembling hands. "Hush, Miss Peabody," she said kindly. "You did just as you should have. And after you organized such an efficient rescue operation this evening, there can be no doubt of the soundness of your judgment. No librarian in the world could ask for a more resourceful assistant – I can't believe how quickly you managed to round up Dr. Pyne, the Washburns _and_ my mother!"

Her cheeks turning pink, Miss Peabody shrugged modestly and bowed her head. "As secretary to a busy and rather spontaneous man, I got quite used to arranging things in a hurry. And the rounding up wasn't entirely my doing – Mrs. Washburn offered to fetch Mrs. Paroo while Mr. Washburn and I went for the doctor."

But Marian still insisted on giving credit where it was due. "Perhaps, but thanks to your quick thinking, we also managed to keep from being unduly delayed by Mrs. Shinn and her ladies. And your fundraising idea for the library was a marvelous one!"

The blush in Miss Peabody's cheeks deepened, and her head remained bowed as she replied, "It wasn't an idea I made up on the spur of the moment – I have been pondering potential fundraising ideas for the past few weeks. It was premature and presumptuous of me to present such a proposal to the Events Committee without your prior approval, and I only did so because the present circumstances demanded drastic action."

It tugged at Marian's heartstrings to hear Miss Peabody undervaluing her accomplishments in this manner; the poor woman looked almost as embarrassed and wretched as she had when she accidentally knocked over the book-return cart. As the librarian regarded her ill-at-ease assistant, she was struck with the odd urge to embrace the frazzled young woman, smooth the disheveled curls from her brow and plant a motherly kiss on her forehead. But just as Marian refrained from losing her temper earlier, she also managed to prevent herself from unleashing this kind of outpouring. Her condition was likely the culprit influencing this effusive mood, and the reserved Miss Peabody was not likely to receive such affectionate overtures with delight; she should not have to suffer further discomfiture due to Marian's maternal inclinations.

So the librarian released her assistant's hands and retrieved the library key from its peg in the front hall. "We will get a spare key made for you post-haste," Marian said in a decorous tone, which she hoped would put the reticent young woman back at ease. "As I will no longer be working my usual hours, it will be necessary for you to open and close the building for the foreseeable future. I will drop by the library around ten o'clock tomorrow morning to discuss my new schedule further."

To the librarian's relief, her assistant relaxed at this return to businesslike formality – although there was something strangely wistful in Miss Peabody's eyes as she demurely bid her employer goodnight and departed.

XXX

As Harold observed his wife gazing both pensively and fondly at the young woman as she departed, he smiled to himself. He'd always suspected that Miss Peabody, with her spirit and determination, would eventually prove her worth – and prove it, she certainly had! Courtesy of her clever and quick actions, the two of them had gotten home safe and sound, and with minimal fuss. While Harold didn't feel any better about the foolhardiness of his stride, he was gratified that at least some good had come out of this misadventure at the footbridge. The sooner his dear librarian could come to completely trust her assistant, the sooner she would be willing to relinquish her tight hold on reins of the library.

Indeed, when Marian turned back to him, she looked both gratified and content.

Harold couldn't resist remarking on this. "As I told you earlier, my dear little librarian, it's awfully useful to have a right-hand man… or woman, as the case may be!"

To his surprise, Marian did not issue a prompt rejoinder. She didn't even roll her eyes. Instead, she quietly approached him and, taking the nearby seat Miss Peabody had thoughtfully prepared for her, she leaned over to bestow a tender kiss on his forehead.

Quelling the lump that had inexplicably lodged in his throat – it was bad enough that he was laid up on the couch and unable to reciprocate much in the way of affection or caretaking; he wasn't about to compound his predicament with an unmanly display of emotion – Harold chuckled. "What a pair we are," he sardonically observed. "The crippled husband and the pregnant wife!"

Marian moved away. "Oh, for heaven's sake, Harold!" she admonished with an exasperated smile. "You're not crippled, and I won't be pregnant forever."

"Yes – and what a shame that is," Harold said in a tone of mock disappointment. "Especially as you are at your most becoming in your condition." Although the music professor was teasing her, there was an underlying earnestness to this statement. However, Marian regarded him with distaste, so Harold allowed his eyes to shine with real regret as he amended, "I know you didn't believe me earlier, but you _are_ lovely, Marian. I will miss sleeping next to you tonight."

Although his wife's severe expression softened at this display of unvarnished candor, she laughed dismissively. "You think I'm lovely in this plain housecoat? It's almost as gaudy as your gingham monstrosity!"

"Your outer wrappings make no difference to me, Madam Librarian," Harold averred, reaching up to trace her partially-exposed collarbone lightly with his fingers. "I love you in this gingham robe just as much as I love you in that sheer, harem-style camisole and drawer set I got you last Christmas."

When Marian shivered, giggled and craned her head to cover his mouth with a warm kiss, he let out a well-pleased chuckle and turned toward her with the intention of deepening their embrace – and almost immediately winced and groaned as his ankle sent a shooting pain up his leg at this fresh disturbance.

"Oh, Harold!" the librarian sighed, utterly charming in her indignant exasperation as she helped him settle back into his previous, comfortable position. "Whatever am I going to do with you?"

Harold pretended to think for a moment. "You could kiss me again," he suggested. "A wife's loving affection is the best painkiller there is."

"Is that so, _Mister_ Hill?" she asked wryly.

"It worked wonders at the footbridge while we were waiting for Dr. Pyne," he affirmed with an impish grin. "And this time, I promise I won't move."

But when the librarian slid off her chair to kneel on the floor, Harold almost broke that promise. He hadn't meant for Marian to put herself in such a precarious position, and he wouldn't countenance her doing so, even if it was on behalf of his own well-being. But the protests died on his tongue when she scooted nimbly to the other end of the sofa and planted gentle kisses on his bandaged ankle, which was still throbbing slightly from his earlier exertion.

When his wife finally raised her head to look at him with a tender expression, he gazed fondly at her in return. "If we were in any fit state right now, Madam Librarian, I would make such love to you."

Still on her knees, Marian scooted back over to where his head was resting and gave him a long, sweet kiss. Although it was difficult – every fiber of his being was demanding that he wrap his arms around her and bring her flush against him in as many areas as possible, especially when she began to rake her fingers through his curls as her mouth caressed his – Harold forced his body to remain absolutely still.

"You should go to bed, my dear little librarian," he sighed between kisses.

"I will retire soon," she promised.

But as the seconds ticked by, Marian made no move to withdraw and, just as loath to say goodnight, Harold allowed their embrace to endure.

However, not everyone in the vicinity approved of this. As the music professor and librarian continued to hold each other as best they could, they were once again interrupted by kicks and wiggles between them. Parting from her husband at last, Marian let out a good-natured sigh that was also laced with a sizable amount of relief.

"The baby has barely moved all evening," she explained when he looked curiously at her. "I was a bit concerned, as I thought the chaos and upheaval of the evening would prove disruptive enough to be protested. But our little one remained at rest – until now, anyway." She smiled ruefully as she got to her feet. "So much for getting any sleep tonight!"

Harold, too, had been anxious about the effect this evening's events would have on their unborn child. But apparently, his offspring thrived on excitement just as much as he did – now that things had settled back down into relative peace and quiet and Marian was preparing for a well-deserved night's sleep, it figured the little one would decide to pick this precise moment to begin wriggling about as merrily as ever!

Reaching up, Harold patted his wife's stomach affectionately. "We have got to get you and your mother on the same timetable, little one!"

With a weary laugh, Marian bent over to place one more kiss on her husband's forehead. "Please don't stay awake on my account, Harold – I'll manage just fine."

Giving his wife a compliant smile, the music professor bade her goodnight and closed his eyes. But he listened extremely carefully as she ascended the stairs and made her way down the hall. Fortunately, the librarian did not close their bedroom door – he would have heard the squeak of the hinge and the click of it shutting – so he was even able to receive concrete acoustic assurance that she had indeed safely made it to bed.

For it was only when he was absolutely certain Marian was resting quietly and comfortably that Harold allowed sleep to overtake him.


	6. Dirty Books and Other Revelations

Although the baby continued to fidget and her bed was lonely without Harold in it, Marian soon fell asleep out of sheer exhaustion. And fortunately, her repose was decent enough that she awoke the next morning feeling refreshed. After setting her hair and dressing herself as best she could without her husband's expert assistance, the librarian went downstairs to see how he was faring.

To her delight, Harold was doing remarkably well – a good night's sleep had restored both his cheer and vigor, and he greeted her with a merry grin when she entered the parlor. Still, Marian felt the need to receive vocal confirmation of her initial perceptions of his well-being. "How are you doing this morning, darling?" she asked as she bent over and planted a kiss on his forehead.

"Not too bad!" he said brightly, even as he fidgeted and placed a hand beneath his lower back. "I am feeling a bit stiff from lying in one position all night… but my ankle certainly appreciated the lack of movement, even if my back and legs are complaining right now."

The librarian's eyes narrowed in concern as she took a seat in the nearby wingback chair. "Did you have difficulty sleeping?"

"Not at all – I slept like the proverbial log," Harold assured her. "It was only when I first woke up this morning that I felt the effects of lying in one position for several hours. But since my ankle is doing so much better today, I might be able to shift to my side every so often without too much trouble!"

The music professor's indomitable determination to put a positive facade on his circumstances didn't do much to assuage Marian's unease. "I knew the sofa would be too cramped for comfort," she fretted. "You really should be recovering in our bed – why don't you let me help you upstairs after breakfast?"

Now it was Harold's turn to regard her with narrowed eyes – in fact, he looked almost insulted by her offer. "What kind of man would take a comfortable bed from his pregnant wife, no matter how injured he was?"

"I could always move to the guest room for the time being," she suggested.

"Absolutely not," he said inexorably. "And if you persist in this ridiculous idea of giving up our bed in my favor, I'll escort you upstairs tonight and tuck you in myself – bad ankle or not!"

At that, the librarian had to hide a smile. Her husband was charming as well as exasperating in his stubborn determination to safeguard her health, but she wasn't about to let him know that. "I suppose it is probably best for you to remain at ground level until your ankle grows stronger," she allowed, letting loose a resigned sigh for good measure.

"It is," Harold averred. "It's bad enough that I can barely hobble to the washroom or get my own meals without assistance, but I will not have you, in your condition, ferrying things precariously up and down the stairs as you attend to me!"

"And I will not have you, in _your_ condition, suffering unpleasant knots of pain from lying too long in one spot!" Marian retorted just as vehemently. "I'm going to fetch the ottoman and help you shift into a better position – do not argue with me on this point, Harold," she insisted as he opened his mouth to protest. "If you can't recline in proper comfort, you won't get enough rest – and if you don't get enough rest, your recovery will be seriously hampered."

By the time the librarian was finished admonishing her husband, she had already nudged the ottoman over to the sofa. Grudgingly, Harold allowed her to assist in maneuvering him into a sitting position, with his legs propped up on the cushioned stool. But there was a slight twinkle in his eyes that indicated he was trying just as hard as she was to repress feelings of amusement.

Indeed, once Harold was settled – Marian was gratified to see he did not wince as she carefully shifted his ankle onto its new resting place – he let out a hearty chuckle. "What a pair of tenacious stalwarts we are, my dear little librarian."

Marian sat down next to her husband on the sofa and allowed him to enfold her in a hug. "Stubborn fools, is more like it," she retorted, although the smile that had been threatening to spoil her dour expression was now lighting up her countenance.

Clearly pleased by such an outcome, Harold tenderly brushed her cheek with his lips. "What time are you going to the library today?"

"I told Miss Peabody I would stop by around ten, but I overslept this morning – it's already nine thirty. So I really need to get going on your breakfast if I don't want to be late… " She trailed off, her sense of flustered haste melting into quiet delight as Harold transferred his affectionate nuzzlings to the crook of her neck.

"Surely you can delay your errand to eat breakfast with me," he said persuasively. "Miss Peabody will certainly understand if you're late – in fact, I'd be awfully surprised if she wasn't expecting that to be the case. And given how protective she was of you during the long march home, she'd probably even have the nerve to scold you for skipping such a crucial meal for the sake of punctuality… "

"Her concern did border on impertinence, at times," the librarian idly agreed, her eyes half closed as her husband continued his delicious ministrations. When Harold's mouth traced the hollow of her throat and continued to meander its way down toward her breasts, she was absurdly grateful that both the hot weather and her present condition had compelled her to don a dress with a lower neckline than she usually wore in the daytime.

Neither husband nor wife said much of anything after that, and it wasn't until the parlor clock chimed at the top of the hour that Marian finally roused herself from her romantic stupor and proceeded into the kitchen.

XXX

By the time Marian managed to finish making breakfast, washing the dishes, and getting Harold settled for a mid-morning nap – despite his good cheer, his injury was still fresh enough to sap the energy out of him – it was nearly eleven thirty. And although the day was sunny, the roads were dry and the humidity had finally eased, Marian promised her husband she would walk at a leisurely pace. So a journey that normally took her five minutes was stretched to fifteen; by the time she managed to reach the library, it was nearly eleven forty-five.

Because lunchtime was approaching, the building was practically empty. After stamping a stack of books for what was likely to be the library's final patron that morning, Miss Peabody greeted the librarian with a friendly smile. As Harold had predicted, she did not remark on Marian's lateness or even seem surprised by it.

But when the librarian greeted her assistant with a cordial smile in return and motioned for her to come over, Miss Peabody grew terribly flustered, her countenance transforming from blithe to tense as she hastily brushed the wrinkles from her blouse and smoothed her hair. When she finally deemed herself presentable enough to exit the main desk, she took great care with her stride, warily eying the book-return cart – which was scrupulously empty – and any displays in the vicinity.

This pageant of brittle caution tugged at Marian's heartstrings, even as she was charmed by it, and she was once again struck with the desire to sweep the nervous young woman into a warm and motherly embrace. Instead, the librarian strove to say something that would hopefully put her assistant at ease: "I see you've been doing a wonderful job of keeping things tidy in my absence!"

To Marian's delight, Miss Peabody beamed to receive such warm approbation, and it seemed like she wished to say a whole lot in return. But then she caught herself, and modestly lowered her gaze. "There weren't as many patrons as usual this morning, Mrs. Hill."

After the tumultuous events of the previous evening, and Miss Peabody's efficient handling of what could have been a dreadful situation, Marian could no longer endure such distant reserve. "Oh, you simply must call me Miss Marian," she entreated, clasping the young woman's hands in hers. "All my dearest friends do, you know."

Miss Peabody's head popped up, and she was beaming again. "They do?" she asked, sounding utterly flattered. Then she blushed and bowed her head again. "That is to say, of course they do. I only meant that as your assistant, I should never presume to take such liberties – "

"Jane, if there was anyone who should feel free to take such liberties, it's you," the librarian said with good-natured exasperation. "In truth, you're the only female below the age of twenty-five who addresses me by my married title!"

For good measure, Marian gave Miss Peabody's hands a friendly little squeeze. While her assistant did not pull away or even flinch at this intimate contact, her shoulders drooped a little. "I apologize for my inappropriate reserve," she said guiltily. "I am excessively formal, even to the point of impoliteness – it is one of my many faults. I will do my best to address you as 'Miss Marian' in the future."

Knowing that even the kindest words would do nothing to soothe her abashed assistant, Marian simply smiled and gave the young woman's hands another gentle squeeze before letting them go. Miss Peabody brightened a little at that gesture, which gladdened Marian's heart. But before the librarian could segue their discussion into the more comfortable topic of library business, her assistant tensed up once more, as if she were anticipating a scolding, and said:

"You must be wondering what brought me to the footbridge yesterday evening."

Knocked off balance by this unexpected statement, Marian could only regard the young woman with a look of bewildered curiosity.

"I assure you I did not have a mind to engage in romance, clandestine or otherwise," Miss Peabody said, her cheeks crimsoning even more than they already were. Her freed hands didn't seem to know what to do with themselves, and nervously fiddled with one of the buttons on her plain and slightly wrinkled white shirtwaist. "I was, in fact, looking for you. Not to intrude on your evening," she hastily clarified. "I merely wished to set your mind at ease with the happy news that the damage caused to the collections was minimal, and I also wanted to inform you of a new development you might find pleasing. I know I ought to have waited for you to return to the library, but the hour was growing late, and even though I was well aware you were in your husband's capable hands, I could not shake the strange sense of concern that had taken hold of me. So I sent Zaneeta Shinn to knock on your door, and when she returned with the news that no one seemed to be home, I became downright alarmed. So I had her watch the front desk while I immediately set off for the footbridge."

Flushing with both mirth and embarrassment, Marian raised an eyebrow at her impossibly clever assistant. "The footbridge was the _first_ place you thought to look for me?"

"Yes, it was," Miss Peabody confirmed without a trace of abashment. If there was one arena in which her confidence was unshakeable, it was her powers of deduction. "Given that it was a warm summer evening, just after dinner but a little too early for dessert at the Candy Kitchen, I concluded that you and Professor Hill must have decided to take a leisurely constitutional." She smiled fondly. "And what better place is there to stroll with one's husband on a warm summer evening than the footbridge? There was nowhere else in River City a couple as deeply in love as you and Professor Hill was likely to be, _other _than the footbridge!"

Although Miss Peabody's voice was triumphant, she spoke merely with the zeal of an academic who'd successfully demonstrated a mathematical proof; there was not the slightest whiff of scandalized judgment in her tone. And although the librarian's heavily pregnant state after barely nine months of marriage bore firm witness to the accuracy of such conclusions, Marian smiled with the blushing reticence of a maid – even now, she couldn't help herself.

"Harold and I are grateful for your quick thinking. You saved both of us quite a bit of trouble," she replied before Miss Peabody could descend back into modest uncertainty. Lest she end up giving the reticent young woman an unwanted hug after all – an action that was becoming more and more difficult to resist as the conversation progressed – Marian immediately turned their talk toward workaday matters. "Regarding your library news, you mentioned there was a new development I might find pleasing? I'd be very interested in hearing about it."

"Oh – yes!" Miss Peabody said cheerfully, recovering her usual enthusiasm. But then she hesitated again. "It's something one needs to see to get the full effect, and we would have to go up to the second floor to do so." She shot a doubtful glance at the narrow spiral staircase, and then a concerned one at Marian's rotund figure. "I _could_ just describe the new arrangement, I suppose… "

Marian's curiosity was far too piqued for her to remain on the ground floor – and in any case, she had secured Harold's blessing to ascend the stairs in order to reveal to Miss Peabody the contents of the archival closet. Still, the librarian gave her assistant a sly smile. "By all means, let's see this new arrangement at once! And… I won't tell Professor Hill about the stairwell, if you won't."

After giving her employer a conspiratorial grin in return, Miss Peabody deferentially motioned for the librarian to lead the way to the second floor. While Marian inwardly bemoaned the comical picture she must have presented waddling up the spiral stairs while her slim assistant trailed behind with a watchful eye, she did let out a small sigh of relief when they reached the second floor without incident. Fortunately, Miss Peabody neither smothered any giggles nor cooed excessively over her condition – though she did link arms with the librarian as she escorted her down the main aisle. As this route overlooked the first floor and was bordered merely by a railing, Marian was grateful for the precautionary measure, lest she suffer another inopportune dizzy spell.

Although she could not have known exactly where Miss Peabody was taking her, Marian was not surprised when they turned down the ancient history aisle; somehow, she'd had the eerie presentiment that this was to be their destination. But perhaps her premonition was more rooted in logic than ethereal intuition than it seemed: As this was the only aisle in the library that came to a dead end due to the wall jutting out, the section had always been a logistical calamity that cried out for a more-practical arrangement. Marian's solution had been to use these cramped quarters for housing books on River City's least-referenced topic. But the results had never entirely pleased the librarian – her being accosted by Ed Griner notwithstanding – so it wasn't a surprise that this problem irked Miss Peabody's organizational sensibilities, as well. What _was_ surprising was that not only had Marian's assistant honed in on the issue, she'd accomplished the seemingly impossible feat of removing the treacherous dead end without running out of space for all the books that needed to be on display.

What's more, Miss Peabody's solution for this conundrum was both practical and elegant in its simplicity. Previously, each of the sections on the second floor of Madison Public Library consisted of two bookshelves aligned to form one continuous chain, with aisles in between each line of paired bookshelves. While this remained the standard arrangement for the majority of the upstairs, the pair of bookshelves in the ancient history section had been separated into two distinct units – the shelf closest to the railing remained where it had always rested, but the interior shelf had been rotated ninety degrees and was now standing flush against the part of the wall that jutted out. This simple but revolutionary division of shelving allowed for a small but crucial gap of egress to the previous aisle. And by uncanny coincidence, it just so happened that the bookshelf was almost exactly the same width as the maddening incongruity in the building's structure – making Miss Peabody's new arrangement a seamless and elegant accomplishment, indeed!

Marian's mouth fell open, and she could only gape in awestruck amazement at her assistant.

The exuberant smile blossomed on Miss Peabody's face once more. "From my first day as Madison Library's assistant librarian, it was clear to me that something desperately needed to be done to improve the air circulation in these cramped quarters. For the past several weeks, I have been carefully observing the popularity versus the size of each of the library's sections. I also conducted an informal survey of River City's schoolteachers to ascertain the books commonly used as part of the annual curriculum. After tabulating the results of my research, I realized that the location of each section was already laid out for maximum efficiency" – here she inclined her head reverently at her superior – "so it didn't seem anything could be done to address this vexing issue."

Marian smiled in sympathy – how well she knew this frustration! "Yet somehow," she marveled, "you discovered something I overlooked."

For as ingenious as Miss Peabody's maneuver was, placing a double-sided bookshelf lengthwise against the wall – and thus reducing its utility by half – had cost the library a not-insignificant amount of vital shelf space. The librarian could not account for how her assistant made up for this lack. But of course, the indomitably clever Miss Peabody had found a way around this obstacle, as well: "I meticulously examined the library's books on the ancient world, reclassifying as many volumes as could reasonably be moved to the regular history, language, drama and fine arts sections. Once I completed this task, the volumes in the ancient languages section numbered far less than those in ancient history, so I switched the two sections!"

Marian glanced at the placard marking the aisle. Indeed, it indicated that this was now the ancient languages section.

"Since the aisles are right next to each other and far removed from the main circulation, I don't think many patrons will notice the change. And those who do should not be too inconvenienced by the new arrangement," Miss Peabody went on in that blithe, breezy way of hers. "Fortunately, the library's collections are organized by Melvil Dewey's brilliantly efficient decimal system, so only the location chart needed to be changed, and not the entire card catalog! While an avid scholar of the ancient world may well shake his head at the liberties I took with a few of the reclassifications, the plain truth of the matter is that most River City-ziens only have a passing interest in this rather obscure subject, and are therefore more likely to be grateful that several of these books are now in more accessible aisles – "

At long last, the affectionate impulses Marian had been trying to quell all morning overcame her resolve – reaching out, she pulled her assistant into a warm hug. And if that wasn't forward enough, she found herself sharing her profound gratitude, as well: "Jane, you don't know how much this new arrangement means to me. Especially on top of everything else you've done for me and Harold! You're not only a wonderful assistant librarian, you're the sweetest and kindest friend I've ever had."

"Why, Miss Marian!" the young woman exclaimed, sounding utterly stunned. But there was a distinct undercurrent of delight in her tone as well, as if she had been longing to receive such blandishments from Marian for quite some time. Indeed, her demeanor betrayed her yearning for affection; despite the embarrassment in her voice, she hugged the librarian warmly in return.

Initially, Marian was surprised by her assistant's heartfelt welcome of cordial intimacy; she had expected Miss Peabody to awkwardly endure her embrace. But the librarian soon realized, with another pang of sadness, that this further proved the veracity of her original assessment of the young woman's plight: Jane Edna Peabody possessed a far greater capacity to love than life had given her the opportunity to demonstrate, and she was starving for tenderness. While Marian did not wish to overwhelm the young woman, she could not let her continue to languish in such lonely isolation. And so, after firmly resolving not to let either of their natural inclinations toward reserve hinder the development of a promising friendship any further, Marian turned her head and gave her assistant a gentle kiss on the cheek before moving away to a respectful distance.

"And now, Jane, I have something to show _you_ in return."

Miss Peabody gave her employer a jovial smile and nodded deferentially, so without further ado, Marian led the way to archives. To a casual onlooker, it would have appeared that both women had indeed retreated into their usual formality – especially when neither of them attempted to link arms as they walked along. However, Marian's sense of discernment, which had been greatly heightened by her marriage to a keenly perceptive man, led her to observe that when she ended their embrace, the subtle but steady undercurrent of nervous excitement in her assistant's demeanor had not only completely evaporated, but there was also a new serenity in the young woman's eyes. As for Marian, she was relieved to realize she no longer felt mortified to parade before Miss Peabody with a less-than-graceful stride as she carefully maneuvered herself and her hugely-rounded belly through the narrow aisles.

Yet when the librarian opened the tiny closet in the archives room and bent to unlock the worn and dusty trunk, uneasiness coiled in the pit of her stomach once more. As if in response to this disturbance, the baby began to wriggle, and this unsettled Marian even further. Letting out an irritated sigh, she paused and placed a hand on her stomach in an effort to pacify her restless child.

Likewise, Miss Peabody placed a soothing hand on the librarian's arm. "Is there anything I can assist you with, Miss Marian?"

Figuring she might as well get things over with as quickly as possible, Marian surrendered without protest to the politely proffered expediency and handed her assistant the keys. "Please open the trunk, Jane, and review the contents inside."

Although the librarian's voice quavered slightly as she issued this directive – both physical and mental discomfort rendered her unable to maintain poise up to her usual lofty standards – neither the tranquility nor the affection faded from her assistant's countenance. Even as Miss Peabody knelt in front of the large trunk, she didn't seem the slightest bit perturbed by what she might potentially discover. On the contrary – she opened the trunk with avid and bright-eyed curiosity, as if she were an archaeologist about to unearth a hidden treasure.

At first, the trunk wouldn't come open, not even when the latch was fully unclasped. The rational part of Marian was not surprised at this difficulty, for the chest was not only old, it had sat undisturbed in a musty closet for nearly nine months. When the baby eventually settled down, the librarian's stomach continued to churn as she watched her assistant struggle to pry the lid free. Something seemed ominous about the trunk's refusal to yield, as if the torrid volumes within were actively resisting the encroachment of an unwarranted trespasser.

But Miss Peabody persevered in her vigorous efforts and, with a firm tug, the lid finally creaked upward. A cloud of dust rose into the air along with it, smudging the young woman's white blouse and sullying her chestnut locks. As her gown was already wrinkled and her hair was perpetually disheveled, she barely fidgeted at this fresh assault to her appearance. Marian had been prepared to speak up at this point, but _Fanny Hill_ happened to be right at the top of the heap and, with its lushly-rendered cover illustration of a man and woman engaged in a blatant conjugal embrace, further elaboration of the trunk's contents seemed entirely unnecessary. Indeed, when Miss Peabody fully realized just what she was looking at, her eyes widened and she gasped – whereupon this sharp intake of gritty air sent her into a sneezing fit.

Once her beleaguered assistant had recovered her composure and pulled out a handkerchief to dab the wetness from her nose and eyes, Marian launched into the explanation she had carefully rehearsed the night before: "As I explained when you first came here, this library owes everything to the benevolence of the late Mr. Henry Madison. If he had not so generously bequeathed this building to the town or his book collection to me, River City might not even have a library. And as you can see, Madison Public Library's esteemed benefactor was rather more broad-minded in his intellectual pursuits than the average River City-zien."

Although Miss Peabody appeared to be taking the news rather calmly thus far, the librarian paused and nervously cleared her throat before continuing.

"In showing you these… _unusual_ volumes, it was not my intention to shock or dismay your sensibilities. But I thought it only fair you should be made fully aware of the entirety of the library's holdings. While these books certainly aren't appropriate for general circulation due to their provocative contents, it goes against my principles to destroy such rare volumes. However, if you have any reservations about their presence, I will have them removed from the premises as soon as my husband is fit enough to attend to the matter."

Miss Peabody smiled. "I'm sure that won't be necessary, Miss Marian."

Now it was Marian's eyes that widened in surprise. "It won't?"

"I appreciate your concern, but I have no qualms about these volumes remaining in this closet," the young woman said matter-of-factly. "You may wonder at my lack of astonishment, but as secretary to a similarly well-traveled and terribly disorganized professor, I also came across a few of the less-than-savory titles that can often be found in the seasoned man's personal library… " She trailed off with a bashful smile.

Both relieved and impressed by this uncommon display of discretion – any doubts the librarian held as to whether Jane Edna Peabody could be entirely entrusted with the safekeeping of the collections were now completely laid to rest – Marian directed her assistant to close and lock the trunk. As Miss Peabody moved to accomplish this task with her usual alacrity, the librarian couldn't help smiling at the young woman's nonchalant acceptance of the carnal nature of men. When the librarian had discovered these volumes among Uncle Maddy's otherwise august collection, her initial reaction had been one of shock and dismay. How could a person who'd denounced dime novels as lurid trash harbor such obscenity in his midst? Was there _any_ man not in thrall to his baser urges?

However, while River City's callow young men had never hesitated to whistle and leer lasciviously at her when there were no witnesses present, Mr. Madison was unfailingly appropriate in his behavior toward her – and Marian had been far more alone with him than any other man. Despite his curmudgeonly and brusque exterior, he'd proven himself to be a man of refined intellect. The librarian had wholly trusted his judgment of literature; perhaps she was being too dismissive. After a bit of furtive leafing through the scandalous volumes, she indeed concluded that as offensively straightforward as the material was, the authors often had a higher purpose than mere titillation. Although contemplating the bawdy images and passages within these volumes made her blush something fierce, Marian was fascinated to discover these were works of satire, instruction and celebration of erotic love. But the visceral sensuality of it all continued to repel the maiden librarian; it wasn't something she could embrace or even fully understand. So after locking the books securely away in a trunk, she banished them from her thoughts and returned to her scrupulously prim and upright existence.

But then Harold Hill came to River City. With his twinkling eyes, devilish grin, baritone purr and smooth gait, he might as well have been the living embodiment of what was in those books. While Marian was initially disgusted by the fly-by-night salesman's barefaced womanizing, she had always found his lithe grace and rugged handsomeness dangerously compelling. As her mother would have remarked, the flint was finally out of the drawer and at the ready. The astonishingly unspoiled goodness of Harold's heart was the spark; as soon as Marian realized he had the potential to be so much more than a charlatan, she fell passionately in love with him.

Once the newly reformed music professor vindicated his name and began to court her, his steadily deepening kisses and caresses awakened a desire she hadn't realized she possessed. Both elated and alarmed by the sensations she experienced in her most intimate places as their courtship progressed, the librarian once again sought out those scandalous volumes. As her wedding night approached, they became an important source of solace – especially after she'd read one respectable-but-dour pamphlet too many. Even when conjugal relations proved to be just as delightful as Marian had hoped, she occasionally consulted these books in her endeavors to love Harold as capably and unreservedly as he loved her.

Now that the potentially volatile revelation of the seamier depths of Madison Public Library's archives was safely behind them, the librarian once again felt completely at ease in Miss Peabody's presence. Giving her assistant a sunny smile, she turned their conversation to run-of-the-mill administrative matters as they left the stuffy archives room and made their way down the spiral staircase. "Considering it's Wednesday, I should think we'll receive a shipment of books – and between you and I, Jane, not a moment too soon. Since the binding for Casanova's _Spanish Passions_ fell to pieces last month, Cissy Gale has been feeling the absence of this book keenly. Not a day goes by without her asking me when we'll receive a replacement. Thankfully, a fresh copy is due to arrive on the Wells Fargo wagon this afternoon – would you please keep an eye out for it?"

"Oh yes, I already am," Miss Peabody laughed. "Miss Gale has made the same request to me every day for the last week! Lest she drown her sorrows too much in Eleanor Glyn, I've been trying to redirect her attention to more wholesome fare in the meantime."

Marian laughed as well. "Your time would be better spent trying to redirect the course of the Mississippi River! Cissy Gale lives for tales of lurid romance." Her smile turned conspiratorial. "I think she would die of delight, were she to come across _Fanny Hill_ on the shelf instead of _Spanish Passions_ or her beloved _Jane Eyre_!"

The librarian expected a lighthearted snicker in response to her jest. However, while Miss Peabody did indeed giggle at this remark, her jollity now seemed forced, and the carefree warmth in her expression rapidly vanished as her cheeks turned a deep crimson. Startled by her reaction – and ruefully wondering if her ribald observation might have been too much, even for the complaisant young woman – Marian looked inquiringly at her assistant. To her chagrin, Miss Peabody quickly averted her eyes, and her shoulders tensed in the way they always did whenever she felt deeply ashamed.

The librarian immediately clasped her friend's hands. "Jane, have I offended you? If so, I apologize."

Miss Peabody shook her head vigorously – though she continued to stare fixedly at the floor. "I'm not offended – not in the least."

"Jane," the librarian admonished even as she smothered the perverse inclination to smile, "you're blushing even redder than you did when you knocked over the book-return cart."

Miss Peabody's head jerked up at last. "I am?" Alarmed, she pulled her hands away and raised them to her cheeks. "Oh… oh, dear."

"I wondered if the cover of _Fanny Hill_ would be a bit too much for your sensibilities," Marian fretted aloud. "I should never have jested about such a thing."

Miss Peabody bowed her head again. "It wasn't _Fanny Hill_ that caused this consternation," she sheepishly confessed. "It was _Jane Eyre_."

Unprepared for such a bewildering response, Marian could only echo, "_Jane Eyre_?"

Her assistant nodded, seemingly unable to meet her gaze. When she spoke, her voice was timid. "Miss Marian, please don't think less of me. I was quite young, and did not realize what was happening until it was too late."

Marian felt her heart constrict at such an ominous statement – did the young woman's understanding of masculine appetites come at a terrible price? – but she was still confused. "Jane," she said as calmly as she could, "I'm afraid I don't quite understand."

With a resigned sigh, Miss Peabody reached into the pocket of her skirt and retrieved two yellowed but neatly folded pieces of paper. "The day I resigned as secretary to Professor William Randall, he slipped a copy of the novel into my satchel. Like Cissy Gale, I, too, pored over _Jane Eyre_ until it fell apart. These two pages are all that remain of it." She handed them to the librarian with trembling hands.

Upon examining the pages, Marian saw that someone had underlined, in bold and inerasable strokes of black ink, certain passages of Mr. Rochester's dialog:

"_B__ecause," he said, "I sometimes have a queer feeling with regard to you – especially when you are near to me, as now: it is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your little frame. And if that boisterous Channel, and two hundred miles or so of land, come broad between us, I am afraid that cord of communion will be snapped; and then I've a nervous notion I should take to bleeding inwardly."_

"_I knew you would do me good in some way, at some time: I saw it in your eyes the first time I beheld you; their expression and smile did not strike delight to my inmost heart so for nothing."_

Feeling the same sense of awe Harold must have experienced on that chilly November day she revealed the true depth of her feelings for Mr. Madison, Marian regarded her assistant with compassionate eyes. "Did Professor Randall mark those passages, Jane?"

Miss Peabody nodded, but didn't elaborate any further. Her eyes shone even in the dim light; she looked dangerously close to tears.

Marian yearned to reach out and draw her careworn friend into another embrace. But she dared not let her hands so much as twitch, lest she shatter the spell of the moment. Despite the young woman's skittish demeanor, it was clear there was much more she needed to say. Taking another leaf out of her husband's book, the librarian gazed quietly at her assistant, and waited.

Indeed, it wasn't long before Jane swallowed and began to speak, haltingly at first, but then more rapidly as the story tumbled from her lips…

XXX

_A/N – Special thanks to my best friend and beta reader, Tmyres77, for helping me move through a serious case of writer's block on this chapter! I can't make any promises, but I anticipate future chapters will be posted at a quicker rate from now on. However, no matter how long it takes me, I am definitely planning to finish this fic!_


	7. Miss Peabody's Tale

_A/N – I often write fics while listening to music, so I thought I would start mentioning the "soundtrack" envisioned for stories/chapters, as appropriate. Miss Peabody's Tale can be read to the romantic but wistful Larghetto from Chopin's Piano Concerto No. 1 in E Minor. This piece is particularly fitting because it was used as the musical backdrop for another thwarted romance: Truman and Sylvia from The Truman Show._

XXX

Unable to afford college, and not having a beau lined up to marry after graduation, Jane Edna Peabody moved on to her third-best option in life: attaining gainful employment. So while the majority of girls in her high school class spent their spring planning wedding trousseaus, Jane politely but persistently conferred with teachers, erudite acquaintances and anyone else she could think of who might know of a suitable position for someone of her academic and organizational talents. Marshalltown was booming with opportunity for those interested in a manufacturing career, but with her slight and delicate frame, she was not well-suited to manual labor. Her aunt and uncle would have preferred she marry so she wouldn't have to work, as they were concerned her constitution was not robust enough for such hearty endeavors – part of the reason Jane developed such a love for books in the first place was that she had been prone to catching terrible colds as a child and spent a good deal of time bedridden – but they were also practical people, and commended her prudence in planning ahead.

Thanks to her diligence, Jane soon met with success; by the time April showers gave way to May flowers, she had received an offer to serve as personal secretary to William Randall, a zoology professor in the School of Veterinary Science at the Iowa State College of Agricultural and Mechanic Arts in Ames, Iowa. One of her high school teachers had attended college with Professor Randall, and recommended her for the job. Although Jane's guardians were initially hesitant to allow her to accept this position – given that Ames was a good forty miles away from Marshalltown, she would have to take up residence there instead of continuing to live at home – they were ultimately swayed by the generous salary, which would not only provide an adequate living but, if Jane were frugal in her expenditures, eventually allow for pursuit of a college education. While they did not always understand their intelligent niece, her aunt and uncle always tried to do right by her, and reasoned that even if she did not marry, a college degree would forever assure her economic independence.

Though it went unspoken, Jane knew that her aunt and uncle viewed college as merely an avenue in which she could attain a husband, as what better place could a bookish young woman find a beau than at a university? While Jane did not consider herself a frivolous romantic, it must be admitted that a small, secret part of her did share her guardians' hopes that she might someday meet a fellow who appreciated her intellect and shared her love of reading. But first and foremost, she wanted to attend college to _learn_, for learning's own sake. If Jane happened to catch a young man's fancy along the way, that would be wonderful, but she was not going to waste valuable study time making cow's eyes at the boys.

And even though she'd landed such a well-paying position, college was still too distant a possibility to contemplate. So Jane focused her entire attention on this new chapter of her life, which she looked forward to with great excitement. Being much wiser of the numerous pitfalls that awaited a fresh-faced young female going out into the world, her aunt and uncle viewed her departure with a bit more trepidation, cautioning her always to remember that a woman's greatest asset was her good name; she must never do anything to sully her reputation in deed or even just appearance. As ever, Jane dutifully pledged to live a moral and decent existence in both speech and action, just as they taught her to do. She would have done this in any case – because she was not loquaciously charming or conventionally beautiful, a good name was the only asset she truly possessed in the first place. But despite her propensity to blurt out unpalatable truths at the worst possible time, even she was astute enough to leave this unsaid.

To further ease their worries, Jane's aunt and uncle set her up at the most reputable boarding house they could find in Ames, run by an upright and diligent widow named Elsa Mueller. Mrs. Mueller was a no-nonsense, first-generation German immigrant who ran a tight ship and reported regularly to the guardians of her charges via correspondence. Naturally, the girls who resided in her domicile despised her – especially because she had a tendency of spoiling even their most harmless fun. However, Mrs. Mueller did have a fondness for sumptuous furnishings and her culinary skills were unparalleled, so the boarding house was both cozily and prettily furnished, and there was always something delicious to eat when it was mealtime. So while the young ladies may have chafed beneath the matron's rigid rubric, they were not disposed to prevail upon themselves or their guardians to find a new living situation. And while the girls may have flouted Mrs. Mueller's decrees where they could and mocked her heavy accent when she wasn't in earshot, they had neither the temerity nor the inclination to engage in outright disobedience.

Not that Jane was aware of any of these tumultuous undercurrents when she arrived to the boarding house; all she saw at first was the young ladies' respectful nods and timorous demeanors, and she therefore took them to be as forthright and carefully raised as she had been. But as she settled into her new residence over the next few days, she slowly realized that once again, she was the odd one out. Although the other girls made a great show of obeisance to Mrs. Mueller, Jane was the only one who genuinely treated the matron as a respected mother figure. While she was extremely careful not to make a pet of herself – she had learned early on how unkind one's peers could be to a girl whom the teachers favored too openly – Mrs. Mueller seemed to sense the honesty of her charge's regard, and developed a bit of a soft spot for the motherless young lady.

And so Jane became a pet, anyway – at least, as much of a pet as a woman of Mrs. Mueller's prunes and prisms could countenance having. However, even though Jane received no extra pampering, the fact that she was held high in the matron's esteem certainly did not endear her to her peers. But to her amazement and relief, she somehow managed to avoid becoming a target of their cruelty. Later, when she had learned more about human nature, Jane ruefully reflected that it was most likely her humble and unassuming demeanor that saved her from such a fate; the others found her so dull and uninteresting they could not feel anything as passionate as animosity. Instead, they pitied her as pathetic – and were even a little grateful that she was there to keep Mrs. Mueller from targeting any of them for special attention.

Although Jane was never the type to bemoan her lack of popularity, it did frustrate her that she could not seem to understand any of the girls well enough to forge a friendship deeper than exchanging mere pleasantries. She did have a fair number of girlhood chums when growing up in Marshalltown, so she wasn't hopelessly inept at society. However, the sad truth of the matter was that Jane was incapable of seeing the world through the same eyes as the other young ladies, no matter how hard she tried. While they dreamed of escaping the drudgery of employment and board-house living through marriage to an eligible bachelor, Jane took great joy in the fact that, in this day and age, a woman could live independently, earn her own keep, and still be considered perfectly respectable! She was also grateful that, at long last, she could put to rest the fears she'd held about becoming a life-long burden to the guardians who so generously took her into their household when she was just a baby. Her present prospects for education, marriage and even employment would have been a lot dimmer, had she grown up an orphan in a cheerless asylum.

While Jane quickly accepted, in that pragmatic way of hers, that she would not be developing any meaningful friendships in this new environment, she wistfully wished that she at least had the capability of engaging her peers in pleasant conversation every now and then. But this, too, proved fruitless. While the girls' thoughts were mainly occupied by handsome boys, beautiful dresses and festive gatherings, Jane's chief delights were reading and solitude. Despite these differences of philosophy, she always greeted the young ladies with a friendly smile – something else she had learned worked wonders.

But this, too, was only marginally successful. Jane sometimes got the inkling that the other girls felt just as frustrated as she did by the gulf between them, that they wanted to like her as much as she wanted to like them, but such presentiments vanished as soon as she opened her mouth; whenever she'd tell one of her peers about a fascinating book she'd just read or some engaging natural feature she'd observed during one of her early-morning constitutionals, her remarks would inevitably cause giggling and playful scolding for being such a "stuffed shirt!" When Jane apologized and tried to turn the topic to something they found of interest, she had neither the interest nor the knowledge to add anything meaningful to the resulting conversation, and therefore became a mere cipher to a soliloquy. While she politely and patiently bore these one-sided interactions, she absolutely refused to engage in hurtful gossip or tell tales, so the girls quickly learned not to talk scandal in her presence, speak disparagingly of Mrs. Mueller, or involve her in any of their mischief. Inevitably, this led to her being left out of legitimate social functions, as well – though due to neglectful oversight rather than active maliciousness.

Thus, Jane was largely free to pursue her own devices – and despite her loneliness, she preferred things this way.

XXX

Jane had arrived to the boarding house in the middle of the week to give herself enough time to get properly settled; when the first Monday morning of her stay finally arrived, she was more than ready to begin her position as personal secretary to Professor Randall. She was so excited, in fact, that she awakened even earlier than Mrs. Mueller. As the walls were a bit too thin for comfort and she didn't wish to disturb the rest of the household, Jane forced herself to remain in bed until she heard the matron's heavy footfalls echoing through the corridors. This was the unofficial alarm clock of the boarding house. Mrs. Mueller made three circuits in her inspection of the premises: one at six forty-five a.m., one at seven-fifteen, and one at seven forty-five. If any of the girls' doors remained closed after the matron's third round, they were unceremoniously thrown open, and the unfortunate young lady was given a severe tongue-lashing that would rouse her from even the deepest slumber. And if she arrived so much as one minute late to breakfast – which was always served in the dining room promptly at eight a.m. – she would be denied a place at the table. The same harsh consequence also held true if the young lady galumphed downstairs in too rumpled a disarray for Mrs. Mueller's liking.

Fortunately, Jane had always been a punctual person, so she was never in danger of missing breakfast on account of lateness. However, when it came to neatness of appearance, she had already earned a few clucks of the tongue from the august matron – somehow, her clothes tended to wrinkle more than they should have throughout the course of a day, and she could never entirely tame her unmanageable chestnut locks into the elegant chignons the other girls sported. But on this particular morning, Mrs. Mueller regarded Jane with an approving nod. Although she knew the matron expected her to keep her expression modest and downcast, Jane couldn't help beaming at this approbation; she had taken care to braid and pin her hair extra tightly this morning, and she was wearing a plain but crisp navy-blue gown her aunt and uncle had specially purchased for her to wear on this important occasion.

And so, well-groomed and well-fed, Jane set off for work. It was a warm, sunny morning in early June; she could not have had a better walk. Miles and miles of well-tended farmland stretched out before her, and while some might have found these enormous yet sparse panoramas both desolate and daunting, Jane was exhilarated by the immensity of her surroundings. Out here in the country, one had the space to run and dance about as one pleased – or even do cartwheels, if that was one's fancy! Of course, the occasional tree-ringed clusters of homestead, barn and grain silo dotting the horizon served a distant but ever-present reminder that these vast swaths of crops were someone else's property and, as much as this wide-open landscape thrilled Jane to the depths of her soul, she mustn't go gamboling through the fields like a silly schoolgirl. But now that she was finally away from Marshalltown's factories, which crowded out the skyline and hemmed all the citizens in fortresses of concrete and steel, Jane could finally _breathe_. And that was more than enough for her.

Although the late-spring breezes did end up dislodging a curl or two as she strolled happily along, Jane was too content to allow her vanity to be wounded by such trifles. With her satchel, lunch pail and new frock, she felt almost as if she were a student heading to her first day of school. While this was a universal cause for frowns among youth, Jane had always reveled in the beginning of the academic term, looking forward to the new knowledge waiting to be learned. Though it was spring and not autumn, and though she was attending college as an employee rather than a pupil, there was already a comforting familiarity to her new routine. This, coupled with the beautiful day, stirring landscape and Mrs. Mueller's silent commendation, seemed to betoken good omens to Jane, and she felt she could not have been more blessed than she was in her current situation.

After twenty minutes of walking at a pleasant but not too brisk pace, the eager secretary-to-be finally approached the Agricultural Engineering Building at the Iowa State College of Agricultural and Mechanic Arts. Coming to a halt, Jane gazed eagerly at the structure where she would be spending most of her day in the foreseeable future: a beautiful, imposing red-brick building with a sweeping staircase and gabled roofs. Jane was both thrilled and awed by the edifice, which looked like a castle out of Grimm's fairytales or, perhaps more fittingly, a gothic mansion out of a Brontë novel. Somehow, such architecture seemed appropriate; as spring term had just recently concluded, the campus felt abandoned. But this did not bother Jane in the least – she had never been one who sought out throngs of activity.

However, even the eternally optimistic Jane began feel a few pangs of disquiet when she walked into the dean's office and presented her offer letter to the secretary. Jane made sure to give the young lady her friendliest smile as she greeted her – she looked to be around the same age, and it would have been nice to find a kindred spirit at work if she could not at home. Although the secretary's eyes lit up and she responded with a genuinely welcoming beam in return, Jane's hopes for amiability were soon dashed. Upon reading the letter, the secretary's cordial smile faded and her demeanor immediately reverted to one of aloof detachment.

"Please have a seat, and Dr. Strange will be with you in a moment," the young lady said coolly.

At this sudden, strange inscrutability, Jane's own smile dimmed – but out of confusion rather than offense. As the secretary went to retrieve the dean, she glanced askance at Jane with the barely-repressed pity and horror as one would regard a quarantine victim. Jane nearly blurted out that she'd already had the measles, mumps and scarlet fever as a child, so there was no cause to look so alarmed, but she remembered her manners just in the nick of time and managed to hold her tongue.

When Dr. Strange came out of his office to greet her, Jane forgot her bafflement in the surprise of seeing the dean for the first time. His letters to her had been extremely terse and formal, and as a result Jane had imagined him to be a hoary-headed academic with a haughty and distinguished air. But as it turned out, Acting Dean of the Division of Veterinary Medicine Charles Henry Strange was not at all the man she had pictured. He was a conventionally handsome and clean-cut young fellow, well-groomed in his modest but impeccable suit – he couldn't have been a day over thirty! In addition, his smile was open and his manner was friendly; he welcomed her to campus courteously and warmly, almost as if she were a guest to dinner. However, Jane was not naïve enough to mistake Dr. Strange's affability for attraction; even had she not seen the ring on his left hand, there was nothing flirtatious in his tone. And despite his youth, Jane certainly wasn't inclined to question his fitness for command, as Dr. Strange projected a quiet but confident air of authority in both his speech and bearing.

Yet even though he was clearly delighted to have her in the college's employ – he had been the one to hire her; she had not corresponded even once with Professor Randall – Jane detected that the dean, like his secretary, was a bit cagey in her presence. However, unlike his secretary, Dr. Strange still managed to be amiable and reassuring in his treatment of her as he led her down the corridor to Professor Randall's office… even though his answers to her frank but necessary inquiries about the professor's habits were suspiciously circumspect, and seemed to hint she should not expect the warmest of welcomes from the man she had been expressly hired to assist.

But Jane's cheerful smile never wavered, not even when Dr. Strange finally finished his hemming and hawing and threw open the door to Professor Randall's office, revealing the marvelous mess within. Whereas the bookshelves were crammed with jars of preserved embryos, heaps of partially assembled animal skeletons, and other fauna-related curios that defied classification by the ignorant layman, the floor was covered with tottering stacks of books and loose papers, leaving only narrow paths for traversal throughout the room. The massive mahogany desk also groaned under the weight of books, papers and animal artifacts – the most impressive specimen being a massive horse's skull, which seemed to grin eerily at the two intruders from its lofty perch.

After witnessing such tremendous disorder, most women would have crumpled and resigned on the spot. Jane, however, glowed with happiness and a sense of purpose; finally, she had found her place in the world, a place where her organizational talents were desperately needed! As the dean regarded her with apprehensive and even apologetic eyes, Jane beamed at him in return.

"Tell me, what time is Professor Randall due back this afternoon?"

Dr. Strange looked positively dumbfounded, but when she continued to smile serenely at him, he recovered his composure. "Professor Randall will be in the agricultural laboratories until at least four-thirty this afternoon."

"Wonderful!" Jane said happily; she had always preferred working in complete solitude. "I'll get started right away – there isn't a moment to waste."

Grinning with the relief of a man who had finally managed to wash his hands of some terribly unpleasant chore, Dr. Strange gave her a brisk, approving nod and told her he'd leave her to it. As he exited the office, Jane suddenly thought of something important, and asked where the cleaning supplies were kept. However, the dean continued striding purposefully down the hall – apparently, he had not heard her. Jane did not chase after him; he was a busy and important man, and his thoughts had clearly moved on to something else. She could find the necessaries herself or, failing that, ask his secretary to tell her their location – though she preferred to avoid subjecting herself to the young lady's sympathetic gaze, which, now that she understood its cause, seemed downright condescending.

For Jane knew precisely what needed to be done. First, she moved everything off the desk to give herself a clear surface upon which to transfer the contents of the bookshelves. However, she ended up leaving the horse skull exactly where it was – not out of trepidation, but so it would not get damaged in the upheaval. Jane viewed the cranium's imposing presence as whimsical rather than frightening, and even found herself smiling at the silly thing as she rested piles of bones and embryo jars around it. This arrangement soon blossomed into a tableau that was both amusing and jarring: Professor Randall's desk now looked like a pagan altar to some wicked equestrian deity. Yet it couldn't be helped; there was nowhere else she could move the delicate artifacts at present. Such indecorous circumstances were precisely why Jane preferred to undertake organizational tasks alone – she could only imagine the appalled expressions of Dr. Strange and his prim secretary if they were to see such displays. (Professor Randall was, as yet, an unknown quantity, but she surmised he wouldn't have been too scandalized, as he was the one who'd placed the horse's skull on the desk in the first place!)

Jane's next move was to retrieve rags, a water pail, and a generous supply of soap, which she found in a closet not far from Professor Randall's office. After scrubbing the layers of dirt and dust off the now-empty shelves, she then set about arranging all the books in their proper home, pausing only to eat lunch when the clock on Professor Randall's wall chimed twelve. It was arduous work, but by the time four o'clock rolled around, there wasn't a single book left on the floor. The paper piles still lingered and the desk remained covered with curios, but Jane felt supremely satisfied with her progress; getting all the books off the floor had freed up a good deal of space, and the office looked miles better than it had early that morning.

After taking fifteen minutes to admire her handiwork and brush some of the dust from her dress – she didn't even bother trying to fix her hair, which was now completely disheveled after her long day of labor – Jane directed her attention to the artifacts on the desk. However, she had barely begun make headway when she was startled by a loud and masculine bellow:

"What in the name of Henry Morton Stanley have you done to my office?!"

At this unexpected interruption, Jane jumped, knocking over the embryo jar she had been dusting. Fortunately, she managed to catch it before it rolled off the desk and fell to the floor, where it surely would have shattered. While Mrs. Mueller might make allowances for a dusty dress and tangled tresses, the matron was sure to write Jane's aunt and uncle if she returned to the boarding house with a formaldehyde-soaked gown!

"Well? What have you to say for yourself?" the man demanded to know after she had set things to rights.

Brushing her curls from her cheeks in a perfunctory manner, Jane turned to face the bellower with her customary friendly grin. "Professor Randall, I presume?"

Clearly, the professor was not expecting such a collected response; he goggled at her and, as he took in the sight of her, his lips twitched slightly, as if he were trying to hold back a smile or perhaps even a chuckle.

Heartened by this glimmer of warmth, Jane beamed encouragingly at her new employer and said, "Jane Edna Peabody, at your service."

She held out her hand, but he did not take it. "Jane Edna Peabody," he repeated, sounding utterly unamused. Jane wondered if perhaps she had imagined the twitch of his lips; the professor seemed to have permanent frown lines etched into his face, which was already considerably wrinkled. Not that his visage was unpleasant; he had the look of a man who had been devastatingly handsome before age had caught up to him, chipping away at his chiseled features and salting his tawny locks. However, if the loss of his looks troubled him, he certainly didn't show it; he was dressed as impeccably as the dean and carried himself with majestic pride rivaling that of an alpha lion. Jane felt her heart give a queer little flip-flop as she took in the sight of Professor Randall; now _here_ was the hoary-headed, haughty and distinguished academic she'd been imagining!

Given that he was still glaring at her, waiting for her to speak, Jane helpfully explained, "Dr. Strange hired me to be your personal secretary."

Professor Randall's thundercloud expression darkened even more. Abruptly, he strode toward the door – indeed moving with the lordly grace of a lion, as Jane had suspected – stuck his head into the hall, and bellowed:

"Charlie, get in here! This time you've gone too far!"

Jane's eyes widened at such brazen rudeness to one's superior and, to her shock and dismay, she couldn't stifle a nervous giggle.

Professor Randall whirled back to face her. "Oh, you think this is amusing, do you?"

Although he was impressive in his anger, Jane did not tremble, even as she contritely replied, "I do not. I apologize for my inappropriate behavior."

However, her calmness only irritated him further, launching him into a full-blown tirade. Thinking it best to let the dean sort out matters from here on, Jane remained quiet and listened respectfully to Professor Randall until he sputtered himself into silence and regarded her with a measured but curious look. His eyes also twinkled slightly, as if he was amused but not entirely certain what to make of his new secretary's character.

A good five minutes after the professor had issued his unceremonious summons, Dr. Strange peeked his head into the office. His expression was grim and uneasy at first, but when he caught sight of the amazing changes Jane had wrought over the course of the day, his countenance brightened and he let out a low whistle as he stepped into the room. "You're a miracle worker, Miss Peabody; I can't remember the last time I saw this much floor in here!"

At that, Professor Randall started to mutter ominously – Jane thought she caught something about having a little talk with meddlesome wives who should be attending to domestic matters instead of sticking their nose in business that didn't concern them – but Dr. Strange set his shoulders and looked squarely at him. "Bill, even if your missus hadn't interfered in the matter, the plain truth is that your office is an embarrassment to the school. You're just going to have to get used to having a secretary – Miss Peabody isn't going anywhere!"

Not cowed in the least by the dean's decree, Professor Randall glowered at his boss. "How in the name of Marco Polo am I supposed to find my books, now that they're all out of order? She's destroyed years of research!" He scowled at Jane again. "It might not have looked it to you, but those books were in precise and careful order!"

"And they still are," Jane reassured him. "Ask me for any volume, and I'll retrieve it in a trice!"

Professor Randall looked skeptical at this declaration, but when Dr. Strange prompted him with a glare, he growled, "Aristotle's _History of Animals_."

Jane took two steps to the right and plucked the book off the shelf.

Dr. Strange looked elated by her triumph, but the annoyance in Professor Randall's countenance only deepened. "They're not all so easy. How about this one: _Le voyage aux régions equinoxiales du Nouveau Continent, fait en 1799-1804, par Alexandre de Humboldt et Aimé Bonpland_."

By the time he got to the "_Nouveau Continent_" part of the title, Jane realized exactly which volume he wanted, and handed the book to him just as he was finishing his recitation.

Now the dean was looking at her with downright reverence. While Jane appreciated Dr. Strange's vote of confidence, it was Professor Randall's reaction that truly brought her joy: His mouth dropped open and he gazed at her with eyes that were both stunned and impressed. "You're fluent in French?"

"I do not speak the language so much as I read it," Jane said ruefully. Even though she had been studying French since she was thirteen, she was not at all proficient when it came to proper pronunciation. However, pride in her erudition soon got the better of her, and she added, "I am also fairly adept at reading Latin."

Dr. Strange beamed at her, and then shot a stern look at the professor. "Well, Bill?"

"I suppose we can keep her," Professor Randall grumbled. "On a trial basis."

"Wonderful!" the dean said happily. The matter settled, he exited the office, once again sporting the relieved and victorious expression of a man who'd completed something grueling and was now moving on to bigger and better things.

When they were alone again, Professor Randall turned to Jane with a grave and authoritative countenance. "Before this arrangement progresses any further, you're to get one thing clear: you are not in command. As my secretary, you're merely here to keep my office neat – not aid and abet that young whippersnapper and my overbearing wife as they strive to rearrange my life the way they see fit. If you get a swelled head and start ordering me around, I won't tolerate your presence in my office – dean or no dean!"

"I'm not here to rearrange your life, Professor Randall," Jane earnestly assured him. "My only wish is to make your important work easier and more productive."

As she spoke these words, she bowed her head and gazed at the floor with downcast eyes. While this display of extreme modesty was a rather dramatic move on her part, she had to do something to convince Professor Randall her diffidence was genuine, as she wished neither to lose her job nor cause additional trouble for him. Despite Jane's distaste for such theatrics, this gesture had worked wonders on Mrs. Mueller, so she thought it was worth at least a try.

But Professor Randall was far too clever to be swayed by such a ruse. "Blast it, woman!" he exclaimed. "Does nothing intimidate you?"

Jane gave the matter some real thought. "Wasps," she said honestly. "And large dogs. A Great Dane knocked me down in the park and slobbered all over my prettiest dress when I was a little girl, and I never quite got over the experience."

Once again, Professor Randall goggled at her – and then, to her utter shock, he burst into laughter.

Jane was now terribly confused, and tears of dismay began pricking at the corners of her eyes. She supposed he was laughing at the ridiculous notion that he was going to have to tolerate her being his secretary. Yet she was not hurt by his dismissiveness; she was upset at herself for failing so spectacularly in her position – and after only a single day! Finally accepting there was nothing she could do or say to please Professor Randall, Jane decided she'd best resign at once. "Clearly, I am not the secretary you require," she said, abashed. "I will gather my things at once and trouble you no more."

Professor Randall shook his head adamantly and held up a hand as if to stop her from leaving. "Jane Edna Peabody, you are exactly the secretary I need," he informed her with a grin.

But Jane was only further bewildered, and her heart gave another queer flip-flop to see Professor Randall smiling so broadly. The sunny expression changed his face entirely, smoothing out his frown lines and making him look at least ten years younger. Jane had originally estimated him to be in his late forties or perhaps even early fifties, so the change was quite striking.

"I'm sorry," she found herself stammering. "I don't understand."

Professor Randall continued to smile at her. "You're just the right mix of respectful and fearless – a secretary who will insist on keeping me neat without attempting to rule the roost. I may be curmudgeonly, stubborn and set in my ways – oh yes, I am well aware of my flaws – but I know full well that both the dean and my wife are absolutely right. The state of my office is dreadful and I do need a secretary." His eyes gleamed with impish ingenuity. "Still, I wasn't about to let either of them badger me into it; if I'm to have a secretary, I must have one on my own terms. I apologize for putting you through the wringer the way I did, but it's the only way I could determine if you were up to the task." The twinkle in his gaze faded and, with an expression that was almost embarrassed, he gestured to the desk. "Also, I normally don't keep so many animal specimens in the office, but my secretary can't be squeamish when I do bring in dissected animal corpses and the like for cataloguing." He reached out and clasped Jane's right hand in a hearty shake of congratulations. "I'm proud to say that you're the first secretary who's ever lasted five minutes – let alone until five o'clock. All the others took one look at the ghastly horse's head and fled!"

"This was a test?" Jane gasped, too dumbfounded to take offense. Her employer's unexpected handclasp was causing a pleasant but rather unsettling warmth to flow through the entirety of her body; she couldn't help shivering a little at the strangeness of this new sensation. "The horse cranium, the embryo jars, your ill temper – it was all a masquerade?"

Now Professor Randall did indeed look abashed. Glancing downward and quickly letting go of her hand, he confessed, "No, my outburst was genuine, I'm afraid. I've always found it more convenient to keep my books and papers in piles, and seeing them on shelves was quite the unwelcome change. I suppose I must get used to the new system, but it will take some time for me to adjust. In the meantime, I won't be very easy to get along with, so I apologize in advance for my behavior." He smiled again, and Jane's heart gave another unsettling flutter as she witnessed this lingering vestige of his physical charms; Professor Randall must have been devastating to the ladies in his youth.

Finally accepting that he did approve of her, after all, she ventured a small smile in return. "So – shall I see you tomorrow morning?"

"Bright and early," he concurred. "By then, most of the specimens will be back in the laboratory, so you won't have to worry about finding a place for those."

Delighted her job was indeed secure, Jane cheerfully declared, "Wonderful! I'll start in on the piles of paper."

Professor Randall frowned again, the lines returning to his face full-force. But he also gave her a gruff nod. "Au revoir, Miss Peabody."

"Until we meet again," Jane echoed with a bright smile.

XXX

As Jane predicted, Mrs. Mueller was not pleased to see her return to the boarding house so disheveled, but thankfully, the matron accepted her explanation without too much fuss. While Professor Randall may have been a bit curmudgeonly, he was known to be an upright pillar of the community, so Mrs. Mueller had no misgivings about the security of her young charge's reputation. However, she did admonish Jane to wash up quickly, or she'd be late to dinner.

While Jane assured the matron she would not arrive home in such an unkempt state in the future, it took her nearly a week to get Professor Randall's office in tip-top shape, and she had to weather a few more dusty dresses, ruined chignons and temperamental outbursts from her employer in the process. But once everything was properly organized, Mrs. Mueller no longer had any cause to scold her each evening and, more importantly, Professor Randall lauded her presence as an indispensible boon to his work. So after their bumpy beginning, professor and secretary took to each other quite well.

While the other girls in her boarding house would likely have recoiled in disgust and dismay if they had to work for such a man, Jane found her circumstances more than adequate. Having grown up around similarly good but brusque people, she was not overly sensitive, and Professor Randall's mercurial moods did not bother her in the least. In fact, she liked her employer immensely. He may not have been the dashing young buck he once was – not that Jane based her opinion of him on such superficial measurements; in any case, she decided she much preferred a distinguished-looking man over a conventionally handsome fellow in the mold of Dr. Strange – but he was the most fascinating and intelligent person she had ever met. Professor Randall had traveled all around the globe, amassed interesting and exotic collections of fauna, and was a captivating conversationalist – once one overcame his grouchy exterior, that is. For not only would he talk to Jane, he often encouraged her to talk about herself in return, seeming just as enchanted by her opinions and experiences as she was enthralled by his.

Delighted to have found a kindred spirit at last, Jane cheerfully conversed with Professor Randall for hours on end. A few weeks into her employment, they even began taking their lunches together in his office. Although he was always the one who issued the invitation, Jane ought to have put a stop to such familiarity and sought out the company of the dean's secretary for her noon repast, instead. However, while the woman was unfailingly polite to her, she remained maddeningly aloof; after witnessing a string of young ladies parade in and out of the position, she apparently did not deem it worthwhile to develop a deeper acquaintance with Professor Randall's latest secretary.

In truth, Jane was not bothered by this snub at all, as she could not have been happier with her current lunch situation. Had the professor been a bachelor, she would have been wary of encouraging such fraternization. But he was already married and had been so for decades; to her naïve viewpoint, this made him unlikely to engage in shenanigans with his personal secretary. In the course of their conversations, Jane did occasionally get the inkling that Professor Randall was less than content with his matrimonial situation, as he often advised her that those who married in haste repented in leisure, but on the whole he seemed to be a dutiful husband. While he had called his wife "overbearing" once in the past, he never spoke ill of her again; Jane surmised the professor was merely being hyperbolic in order to assess his new secretary's sensibilities.

And even if he had been unmarried or even a widower, she was far from the ideal match for him. Nearly thirty years his junior and not particularly pretty – what a paltry enticement she'd be for a man of his caliber, unsuitable for a dalliance, let alone marriage! Besides, Professor Randall had two daughters that were only a few years younger than she was, so he was even less likely to think of Jane in romantic terms. For not only was he a loyal husband, he was also a doting father. His children were clearly one of his greatest joys in life; he talked about them glowingly and often, and had even shown her a few pictures.

So Jane had absolutely no qualms about the propriety of her friendship with Professor Randall. However, she ought to have realized that such congenial closeness to a man could prove one the most dangerous in terms of passionate potential; while their stations in life vastly differed, they were intellectual equals and found each other's philosophies both agreeable and thought-provoking. Even as they continued to enjoy one other's company more and more each day, Jane still could not fathom romantic consequences to their interactions. While her aunt and uncle had raised her to be a moral and upright woman, they had only ever taught her to beware of cads. If Professor Randall was a scoundrel or even just a flirt, Jane would have been more on her guard. Although she was gradually becoming conscious of the internal stirrings her employer's presence caused her, she couldn't keep her heart from fluttering the way it did even if she'd avoided eating lunch with him; no one had ever given her practical advice on how to deal with an attraction that arose both innocently and unexpectedly between two like-minded people who always strove to do the right thing.

XXX

But whether Jane realized it or not, things were gradually moving toward disaster. And perhaps Providence was trying to tell her this through the scandalous discovery she made when she finally found the time to clean out Professor Randall's office closet sometime in the middle of July. At the bottom of a large heap of brittle and yellowing agricultural tracts, Jane unearthed a trio of books. At first, her discovery seemed benign; the covers were completely nondescript, containing only titles scripted in faded gold. As Jane had never heard of _Fanny Hill_, _Kama Sutra_ or _The Perfumed Garden_, she selected _Fanny Hill_ at random and opened the book in order to determine where it should be placed on the professor's shelves, clucking her tongue at her employer's haphazardness as she conducted her examination.

_Slipping then a pillow under me, that I might give him the fairest play, I guided officiously with my hand this furious battering ram, whose ruby head, presenting nearest the resemblance of a heart, I applied to its proper mark, which lay as finely elevated as we could wish; my hips being borne up, and my thighs at their utmost extension, the gleamy warmth that shot from it made him feel that he was at the mouth of the indraught, and driving foreright, the powerfully divided lips of that pleasure-thirsty channel receiv'd him. He hesitated a little; then, settled well in the passage, he makes his way up the straits of it, with a difficulty nothing more than pleasing, widening as he went, so as to distend and smooth each soft furrow: our pleasure increasing deliciously, in proportion as our points of mutual touch increas'd in that so vital part of me in which I had now taken him, all indriven, and completely sheathed; and which, crammed as it was, stretched, splitting ripe, gave it so gratefully strait an accommodation! so strict a fold! a suction so fierce! that gave and took unutterable delight. We had now reach'd the closest point of union; but when he backened to come on the fiercer, as if I had been actuated by a fear of losing him, in the height of my fury I twisted my legs round his naked loins, the flesh of which, so firm, so springy to the touch, quiver'd again under the pressure; and now I had him every way encircled and begirt; and having drawn him home to me, I kept him fast there, as if I had sought to unite bodies with him at that point…_

Suddenly realizing exactly what it was she was reading, Jane gasped and averted her eyes. Feeling an uncomfortable warmth flood through her cheeks, she hastily turned the page. What she should have done was close the book entirely, but unseemly curiosity tempted her forward; was the entire book filled with lurid passages? Professor Randall was presently in the laboratories and not due to return until lunchtime, which was nearly four hours away. Completely alone in his office, Jane couldn't resist investigating the contents of this tome a bit further.

To her shock and dismay, the carnal acts described throughout the rest of the book were even more repugnant. While the ending was a happy one – Jane couldn't help feeling gratified when Fanny finally managed to reunite with the man she truly loved – the protagonist's behavior during the lovers' separation was downright appalling. In her innocence, Jane had imagined the first scene her eyes alighted on to be a heated tryst between husband and wife – but as it turned out, it merely marked Fanny's final transformation into complete and unabashed prostitution.

Her mind reeling, Jane closed the book and laid it aside. Oddly enough, it wasn't Fanny's profession that unsettled her most – having read the Bible and attended Sunday school, Jane was well aware of what a harlot was – it was the heroine's straightforward and unapologetic delight in sensuality. No one had ever told her that it was possible for women to take such joy in carnal relations. When, at the tender age of thirteen, Jane had undergone her first menses (which came as a sudden and horrific surprise), her aunt had solemnly and sternly informed her that monthly courses were simply a woman's cross to bear, along with childbirth and other "marital duties" (upon which she did not elaborate).

After reading more than enough obscenity for one morning, Jane ought to have left well enough alone. But since she had come this far and figured things couldn't get any worse, she started leafing surreptitiously through _The Perfumed Garden_ and _Kama Sutra_, as well. However, Jane was further scandalized to see that unlike _Fanny Hill_, which merely contained salacious prose, these works boasted blatant illustrations of torrid embraces. Now completely mortified, Jane closed these books with a snap – and let out a small shriek when Professor Randall clattered into the office and slammed the door behind him.

"How's the closet coming along, Miss Peabody?" he saluted her in a booming voice. "I expect it must be gleaming, by now!"

When Jane turned to face her employer, she looked anything but her usual unruffled self. Not only had she made absolutely no progress in cleaning, she was still holding the incriminating trio of books in her arms.

A clever man, Professor Randall immediately realized what must have happened. "Oh dear," he said with a sigh and shake of his head – though he continued to smile at her. "You've been doing a little extracurricular reading, haven't you? Naughty girl."

Jane would have blushed even more crimson at his remarks – this was the first time he had ever spoken to her in such a casual and ribald manner – but she was too astonished by his reaction to feel embarrassed. Instead of losing his temper and scolding her for snooping, as she expected him to do, he was continuing to regard her with the same good-natured exasperation as he had greeted her.

As Jane continued to stand there gaping at him, Professor Randall's expression grew solemn, and he approached her. Figuring she would be admonished after all, Jane braced herself for the outburst.

But it never came. After gently extricating the books from her now-trembling fingers, Professor Randall placed them in the bottom drawer of his massive mahogany desk. After locking the scandalous tomes inside, he came over to Jane again. Taking her hands in his, he brought her to sit with him on the battered but clean leather divan by the window.

"Jane, forgive me for teasing you like that," he said contritely. As he spoke these words, her eyes remained fixed solidly on his hands, which were still holding hers. "I don't blame you for being curious, nor do I condemn you for pursuing your curiosity. You have an inquisitive spirit, and such curiosity is perfectly natural and understandable. If anything, the fault lies entirely with me – I should never have left those books where you could find them. I completely forgot they were in the closet; otherwise I would have removed them long before you embarked on your latest organizing project." He paused, and cleared his throat rather nervously. "You may wonder why I possess such books in the first place, but I assure you, they appeal to more than just prurient self-interest. For example, a husband and wife can find great pleasure in each other's company through the reading of such instructive tomes… "

Professor Randall's explanations had started out strong and steady, but now he trailed off, and an awkward silence fell between the two of them.

"I don't know what to think about those books – let alone what to do now that I've become aware of their existence," Jane confessed in a rush of dismay, still not able to meet his eyes. "Mrs. Mueller would be appalled were she to learn of my discovery, and my aunt and uncle would instruct me to resign, I'm sure… "

"Is that what you wish to do, Jane?" Professor Randall's voice grew even quieter and his hands tightened over hers, as if to keep her from pulling out of his grasp.

Jane's head immediately snapped up to look at him. "Not at all," she averred, her own hands instinctively grasping his in return. "I will not resign – this was my mistake, not yours. Those books were lying in a dim corner, long forgotten by you. It's kind of you to absolve me of wrongdoing, but I was the one who unearthed the volumes and proceeded to peruse them without your permission, in the first place! If I am burdened with knowledge, it's entirely through my own intrusiveness. I should be the one asking _you_ for forgiveness."

Looking relieved by her vehement refusal to leave him, Professor Randall gave her the smile that always made her heart flutter. "Jane, I accept your apology – but only because you insist so adamantly on making one. Hopefully, you'll one day come to understand that despite what your aunt and uncle may have told you – or _not_ told you, as is probably nearer to the mark – contemplation of the erotic is not wicked in itself. It's what one does with one's knowledge that truly matters." Patting her hands and letting them go, he added, "Why don't you take the rest of the afternoon off to gather your thoughts, and I'll see you tomorrow morning."

Although this was phrased as suggestion, Jane knew it was an order. Normally, she would have protested – despite what the professor seemed to think, she was _not_ a fragile flower, even if her aunt and uncle had told her virtually nothing about what carnal relations entailed – but she found that she was indeed craving solitude just now, as her heart was still beating a little too wildly for comfort. Grateful for Professor Randall's foresight, Jane gathered her things and left.

For the rest of the afternoon, she did indeed ponder the fine kettle of fish she'd gotten herself into. While the contents of those books were scandalous to the point of being downright appalling, Professor Randall was still the same intelligent and upstanding man she had always known. So Jane seriously considered his statements on the matter of lovemaking, even though his broadminded outlook firmly diverged from what she had been brought up to believe about the propriety – or rather, impropriety – of sensuality. But after everything that had happened that morning, Jane was starting to have difficulty accepting the notion that marital relations were as dour and brusque a chore as she'd always imagined. Professor Randall had been so gentle with her, taking her by the hand, sitting her down, and carefully explaining things to her. He had even called her by her Christian name during their discussion, like an uncle might fondly address his dear niece (somehow, she could _not _liken them to father and daughter, even in allegory!).

Later, Jane would more sagely compare Professor Randall's tenderness to that of an experienced man sweetly conversing on the merits of physical love with his blushing new bride. But for now, she reconciled herself to her discovery, ate a nourishing dinner, slumbered peacefully, and arrived to work the next morning with her usual bright smile. In stark contrast, Professor Randall's countenance was terribly haggard, as if he not slept at all well the night before. However, when Jane bade him good morning as cheerfully as she ever did, he beamed at her in return, looking like a man rejuvenated.

Satisfied that a great burden had been lifted off both their shoulders, Jane picked up right where she had left off in her quest to neaten the professor's closet – and unearthed no more unpleasant surprises in the process.

XXX

And so July gave way to August without any further upsets between secretary and professor – until one Friday afternoon when Jane found herself not only alone in his office, but also the entire Agricultural Engineering Building. In order to break up the monotony of the month and give people something to talk about (weather-related subjects would not be acceptable until autumn), the mayor of Ames had generously decided to sponsor an al fresco summer luncheon and tea on the town green. "At the urging of his high-society wife, no doubt," Professor Randall had grumbled to Jane, who had giggled in genuine sympathy with his distaste for such affairs. However, while Jane was toying with the idea of forgoing the event entirely – her presence was so insignificant that she wasn't likely to be missed by anyone – the professor was slated to attend with his wife and daughters, who of course were thrilled about the upcoming affair. "Mainly because it gives them a good excuse to go shopping for new gowns, hats and gloves," the professor told his secretary with a good-natured roll of his eyes.

Dr. Strange was also planning to go to the picnic with his wife, and had given his secretary the afternoon off so she could attend the event, as well. Following the dean's lead, the other faculty members granted their secretaries the same liberties. So Professor Randall had to make the offer to Jane – although, knowing full well she was happiest when left to her own devices, he added, with a wink, that he would not find it the least bit surprising if she got a little "lost" on the way to the town green.

So Jane found herself with a free Friday afternoon. For decorum's sake, she was planning to put in a brief appearance at the picnic – just to say hello to Professor Randall and perhaps meet his family, though she found the latter idea made her stomach tie itself into inexplicable knots. But as the clock in the office chimed away the afternoon hours, Jane remained happily engrossed in her work. She had spent the entire morning typing up Professor Randall's latest research notes, a painstaking task which promised to take at least until three o'clock to complete, as his writings were disorganized and difficult to decipher. But Jane didn't mind this a bit; instead of being exasperated by the extra work the professor was constantly making for her, she considered his absentmindedness part of his charm. Such thoughts alone should have warned her she was headed into trouble!

Around two thirty, Jane was startled to hear loud footsteps banging down the corridors. Realizing that whoever was in the building was headed straight toward Professor Randall's office, she stood up in alarm. But when the intruder finally barreled into the room and she saw it was only the professor, she relaxed and took her seat again.

However, Professor Randall was highly agitated and, without a word to her, began rummaging around in the bottom drawer of his desk. Bewildered, Jane watched him unearth a decanter of golden-brown liquid and an empty tumbler; pouring himself a glass, he gulped it down, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and let out a long sigh. Then he poured himself another glass.

From the sweet but intense aroma that was now wafting in her direction, Jane guessed her employer was imbibing some kind of spirits. She was starting to get nervous again; he had never displayed such unhinged behavior in her presence. "Professor Randall?" she squeaked, by way of greeting.

In the midst of taking another gulp of liquor, Professor Randall coughed, and his head shot up to look at her. "Jane – er, Miss Peabody?" he sputtered, looking positively stunned. "What are you still doing here? I thought I gave you the afternoon off!"

"I've been typing up your notes from yesterday," she said meekly. "They're taking a bit longer than planned, but I wanted them to be ready for tomorrow morning, when you're due in the laboratory again."

His expression turned inscrutable and he fixed his eyes intently on her. But as to the nature of his thoughts, Jane could not guess. Was he touched by her diligence, or annoyed at her intrusion? Both seemed likely possibilities. Deciding it was most likely the latter, she stood up and said, "I apologize for staying so late; I can finish the notes another time – "

Professor Randall cut off her protests with a wave of his hand. "No, Miss Peabody – please stay and finish what you were doing. You're right; I need those notes done this afternoon." He tossed back the rest of his drink, and then sighed again. "I should apologize for disturbing _you_. So please, don't mind me – I just came here for a little peace and quiet. I won't say another word."

If Jane had known then what she knew now, she would have made her excuses and left immediately – especially as Professor Randall was now pouring himself a third glass of spirits. But she obediently sat down and went back to work. As promised, the professor did not speak, simply continuing to imbibe his drink as she typed away. This wasn't the first time they had sat silently together in his office; normally, Jane found Professor Randall's presence soothing as she went about her business. But on this particular occasion, she felt distinctly uncomfortable. Each time she sneaked concerned glances at her employer, not only did he seem to be readying yet another tumbler-full of liquor for consumption, his eyes remained steadily trained on her. Torn between wanting to finish the notes and trying to catalog Professor Randall's alcohol intake, Jane was making poor progress on both accounts. Sensibly, she realized that the sooner she completed her work, the sooner she could leave the professor to his stupor. Though her heart ached to abandon him in what was clearly his hour of need, it was best for him to have solitude at present. Firmly ignoring the heady aroma of spirits and Professor Randall's unwavering gaze, Jane forced herself to concentrate wholly on the task at hand.

Finally, a little after three o'clock, Jane typed her final word, arranged all the professor's papers in a neat pile, and stood up from her seat. "I've finished!" she triumphantly informed him. "See you tomorrow morning, Professor Randall."

As she made her way to the closet to retrieve her coat, Professor Randall leaped out of his chair and followed her. "Allow me to see you back to the boarding house," he said graciously – though his words now ran together in a slight but telltale slur of the intoxicated.

Even Jane wasn't foolish enough to accept such an inappropriate invitation. "I thank you," she said in what she hoped was a nonchalant voice as she continued to proceed toward the closet, "but I am going to the picnic now."

As she touched the doorknob, Professor Randall covered her hand with his, and gently turned her to face him. In the cramped corner, Jane could not move away. And if truth be told, she was too arrested by his close proximity to try, even if she'd had the opportunity to do so.

Looking similarly transfixed by their nearness, Professor Randall edged even closer, as if he was going to kiss her. At Jane's gasp, he seemed to catch himself, and pulled away – to both her relief and disappointment. But he continued to hold her hand as he confessed, "My wife and I had a terrible row this morning. That's why I'm not at the picnic right now. She and my daughters are attending the festivities without me."

"I'm sorry," Jane sympathized, not knowing else to say. Nor did she know what to do; her coat was still in the closet, and it didn't look like she was going to be able to retrieve it any time soon. A sensible woman would have hastily pulled out the professor's grip and fled the office, as a jacket was a paltry sacrifice to make for the sake of one's chastity, but Jane was too concerned what Mrs. Mueller would say if she returned to the boarding house without it. Though it was highly irregular for Jane to have a coat at the height of summer, Ames had been plagued by a spell of turbulent rainstorms nearly every day for the past few weeks. So the matron was now requiring all her charges to dress for chancy weather, even though this morning had dawned fair instead of drizzly. And of course, Mrs. Mueller took special care to ensure that Jane left the boarding house properly attired. However, if the good lady had known just what kind of trouble wearing a coat would lead to, she might have made an exception and risked her charge's mortal health in order to avoid the greater evil of eternal damnation.

But it was too late now – the damage had been done. Jane _had_ to retrieve her coat; she simply could not return to the boarding house without it. Desperate to keep up the flow of conversation and prevent another dangerous silence from descending, she blurted out the first thing that came to mind:

"Do you often seek solace in your office when no one else is here?"

"I do," Professor Randall confirmed with a grim nod. "Normally, my wife and I keep out of each other's way well enough at home – heaven knows we have sufficient space to do so in the sprawling and ostentatious monstrosity she insisted on us buying after we had our first daughter! – but sometimes things get so tense between us that I find it too suffocating even to be in the same building. Today is one of those times. Fortunately, the leather divan is more comfortable than it looks, though my back will not thank me tomorrow morning!"

Jane's mouth fell open. "You're going to _sleep_ here?"

He nodded again. "I've been doing that quite often, of late."

Perversely, she felt the urge to scold him for such an imprudent course of action. Over the past few weeks, she had started gently but openly admonishing Professor Randall about taking better care of his health – even going so far as to straighten his collar on the increasingly common occasions it became askew. But even though his collar was in a positively dreadful state at present, it seemed far too perilous to straighten it.

As Jane scrambled to find an appropriate response to his remark, Professor Randall gave her a small smile. "You're aware I keep several changes of clothes in the closet, I trust?"

"I thought that was just in case you damaged or dirtied garments in the laboratory," she protested.

"That's how it began," he said darkly. Then his expression softened and his eyes glazed with wistful recollection. "There was once a time – long ago, mind you – when my wife and I spent every minute we possibly could not only in the same room, but in each other's arms. It seemed to both of us that we couldn't get close enough together, even when we were entwined in the most intimate of embraces." He sighed, and Jane's nose wrinkled slightly as she inhaled the liquor on his breath. "But while ours was a deep and intense love, it was entirely physical in nature. We were both blinded by each other's beauty. Though age has caught up to her just as surely as it has to me, she was the belle of the town in her youth. We were both considered the cream of the crop among our peers, so it was only natural we should court."

Alarmed by his ever-increasing disclosure of such personal information, Jane tried to think of something to say that would divert their discussion to safer topics. But her tongue had completely abandoned her. Perhaps it was because she was still standing too close to Professor Randall to think clearly. He smelled of leather and pipe smoke and that pungent, sweet scent she later recognized was brandy; his presence was muddling her senses. So all Jane could do was nod at his words as she remembered the family photographs he had shown her. He and his wife _had_ been a stunning couple in their youth.

"After our initial and superficial passion for each other finally faded," Professor Randall went on, "we found ourselves with two beautiful daughters – but absolutely nothing to talk about outside of our progeny. Whereas I'm an academic and philosopher at heart and have always yearned for a quiet life, her chief delights are gorgeous finery, interior decoration and society intrigue. So as our daughters got older and needed less looking after, estrangement set in – and the distance between us continues to grow with each passing year."

"But you do have your daughters," Jane reasoned, trying to be helpful. "Surely, their existence must do a little to ease the pain of your estrangement?"

Professor Randall gave her a smile that was both fond and sad. "My wife and I _are_ estranged, but it's not painful. It's just… empty." His brow furrowed and bitterness entered his voice. "Rarely has a husband and wife been so ill-suited in their interests and temperaments. Even though I will always be grateful to have my darling daughters, I have reaped little more than regret these past thirty years. You mustn't think I blame my wife for our present situation – even if I can no longer abide her insipid foolishness," he quickly added. "I'm the one who did the lion's share of pursuing in the first place. But on the whole, I wish I'd never married her."

Jane gasped at such sacrilege – even if she pitied the professor's predicament, such dismal sentiments were too shocking for her to countenance their being stated aloud.

Thankfully, Professor Randall finally seemed to realize he'd gone too far. But he still didn't let go of her hand, even as he said, "I apologize for burdening you with my sorrows, Jane. They're mine, and mine alone – I mustn't make them yours, as well."

Although he had called her by her Christian name – something he hadn't purposely done since the morning she found those scandalous books in his closet – Jane felt relief flood through her. At last, he was coming to his senses! "You're not burdening me," she said sincerely. "As I said the day we met, my only wish is to make your important work easier and more productive. If that means lending a comforting ear, I'm happy to be of service."

Professor Randall looked both grateful and flattered, as if it had been a long time since anyone had spoken to him with such kindness or consideration. Another silence fell between them, this time companionable. As Jane smiled warmly at the man whose happiness she would have gone to great lengths to secure, a few curls tumbled out of her chignon, and it suddenly occurred to her that her hair was, as ever, a complete mess. Since Jane thought she would be alone this afternoon, she hadn't bothered to do the usual post-lunch re-pinning of her bothersome tresses.

Letting go of her hand, Professor Randall reached up and gently smoothed the errant strands from her cheek. "Do you know, Jane, that aside from my daughters, you're one of the few bright spots left in my life?"

Jane continued to smile at him, even as she felt her countenance start to crimson. "Thank you," she said bashfully. His fingers were still entwined in her loose curls and, not knowing what else to say, she found herself confessing, "You know, Mrs. Mueller is always scolding me for letting my hair get so disheveled. And the other girls at the boarding house are always pleading with me to submit my untamed locks to their combs and curling irons and pomades… "

A spark of annoyance flashed through Professor Randall's eyes, and Jane immediately ceased her foolish prattling. But as it turned out, he was not miffed at her. "They're philistines – they wouldn't know true beauty if they tripped over it in the street!" he said with feeling as his hand moved to cup her cheek. "I've always appreciated the way your curls billow so freely and brilliantly around you, once you stop trying to mash them flat against your head. Your hair is flawless in its natural state, Jane – don't let anyone ever tell you otherwise."

Although Jane had been raised by relatives who loved her, they were taciturn people who were not inclined to express their regard through physical affection. Yet despite her own reserved nature, Jane cheerfully welcomed the few hugs she had gotten from her aunt and uncle while growing up, and she had taken great joy in the handclasps and arm-in-arm strolls shared with dear girlhood chums; she knew that if given the chance, she would relish receiving affection on a regular basis. So instead of recoiling and withdrawing, she found herself leaning into Professor Randall's touch as he began to caress her cheek.

"I have always tried to be a good husband and father, and provide for my family," Professor Randall said sheepishly. "Despite how unhappy my marriage has been, and despite the fact that my wife and I haven't shared the same bed in over a decade, I've never strayed. Although I felt the lack keenly at times, I'm not a slave in thrall to carnal appetites. It's the little things I miss most, the small blandishments a woman bestows on her beloved – heated glances, tender caresses, sweet kisses."

Their conversation was entering extremely dangerous territory again. Stiffening in his embrace, Jane pointed out, "You have two daughters upon which to lavish your affections."

But she did not attempt to move away, even as Professor Randall's face began to edge toward hers again. "It's not the same, and you know it," he said in a low, heated voice, their mouths mere inches apart. "I can't kiss my daughters the same way I'd kiss the woman I love" – his eyes bored into hers – "it wouldn't be decent or desirable."

"I wouldn't know the difference," Jane stammered. She did know full well she was talking nonsense, but she was unable to stop herself. "I've never been kissed that way – no boy has ever tried to so much as hold my hand."

Professor Randall halted in his advance and exhaled sharply. The scent of brandy permeated the air in front of her nose again, but strangely, she no longer found it off-putting. "Jane," he said wonderingly. "You've never been courted? Never had a boy make cow's eyes at you?"

She shook her head, but only slightly, as he was still stroking her cheek and she did not wish to shatter the spell of the moment. "Not to my recollection."

Professor Randall looked both sympathetic and distraught. "Oh, Jane… that's a terrible shame." Closing the distance between them at last, he kissed her softly and sweetly on the lips.

Although Jane had known, deep down, that his actions were inevitable, she was too stunned to kiss him in return. She did not even have the presence of mind to close her eyes; she simply stood there and let him proceed. When his mouth pulled away from hers a few moments later, she continued to gape at him. Professor Randall's hand remained on her cheek, but he was now breathing heavily and gazing at her with both frustration and desire. Jane suddenly realized she was panting in a similar manner, and her eyes must have echoed his look or encouraged him in some other way, because he groaned her name and wrapped his free arm around her waist. Pulling her close, he crushed his lips against hers. Then his hand was buried in her hair again, her chignon collapsing into complete ruin and curls cascading pell-mell down around her shoulders as he angled her head to deepen their kiss. Lost in the sensation of being in Professor Randall's arms, Jane barely noticed the ruination he'd caused; she was too busy delighting in the way his tongue parted her lips and explored the contours of her mouth with avid passion. Professor Randall kissed her hungrily, desperately, as if he'd been yearning to kiss her like this for ages. And this time, Jane was a much more active participant in their embrace, kissing him back fervently if inexpertly, clinging to his shoulders as her knees began to tremble and then buckle.

Fortunately, he broke their kiss and caught her as she swooned, which allowed her to recover her composure. But neither of them relinquished their embrace; instead, they continued to stare at one another in dazed bemusement. However, the gravity of the situation soon dawned upon the professor and secretary; their expressions turned horrified and they hastily scrambled to put an appropriate amount of distance between each other. Completely forgetting why she had approached the closet in the first place, Jane stammered a flustered farewell and fled from the office. But she had not made it very far down the corridor when Professor Randall caught up to her with her coat. Relieved that she would not have to explain its absence to Mrs. Mueller, Jane foolishly allowed the professor to help her into the garment. Naturally, this led to them standing too close together again, which in turn led to another pregnant pause between them.

Although Jane was no longer bordered by a cramped corner and could have easily vacated the premises, she did not so much as avert her eyes from Professor Randall's face. He looked like he wanted to kiss the breath out of her again – and perhaps even whisk her off to someplace much more private than an airy hallway. While Jane felt she might be forgiven for letting him embrace her by the closet in his office because she had been caught by surprise, if she allowed the professor any further liberties, she'd be just as culpable as he in the resulting turpitude. If only he would stop looking at her like that, if only the building hadn't been so empty, if only his collar wasn't so charmingly askew – so many of these insidious little _if onlys_ kept her firmly in place when she should have been hastening once more toward the wide double doors.

Most especially, the well-ordered young lady longed to straighten Professor Randall's collar. In the past, he had borne such ministrations with impatient but good-humored exasperation. Now Jane realized just how much he valued those gestures; she was probably the first woman who'd fussed over him like that in years, if not decades. The thought of him living such a cold and lonely existence made her heart ache. Even if she must take her leave of the professor, she could not do so without first performing this one, small courtesy.

However, the moment Jane succumbed to this perilous inclination, Professor Randall caught her hands in his and bestowed several ardent kisses upon her fingertips. Soon he pulled her back to him entirely, and their mouths met for another frantic kiss. Although Jane was in no danger of swooning this time, he eventually parted his mouth from hers – to her great disappointment. But her sighs turned happy again when Professor Randall buried his face in her hair and nuzzled at her neck.

"I'm so sorry, Jane," he gasped as his lips traced soft but exquisite patterns from her ear down to her throat. "You must think I'm a terrible cad… "

"Oh, Professor Randall," she gasped in return, tightening her hold on him as the most delicious waves of pleasure coursed through her. "I could never think that about you… "

He paused briefly in his ministrations, his breath hot against her skin as he instructed, "_William_."

"William," she dreamily acquiesced as he luxuriated in her disheveled tresses.

"Oh, Jane," he exhaled. "I know we shouldn't be doing this, but I can't help myself – I've fallen completely and irrevocably in love with you… "

Although William's mouth began to meander bewitchingly across her neck once more, his ardent declaration brought Jane back to her senses. What in heaven's name was she doing, allowing such shenanigans to continue? She fancied she could hear the voices of her aunt, uncle and Mrs. Mueller screaming at her: _William Randall is a married man!_ Even if their compatible temperaments and genuine enjoyment of each other's company made up for the tremendous age difference, and even if they shared the same honest and passionate regard for one another, there could never be a romantic union between them. Things must go no further – or the two of them would soon be committing adultery in body as well as spirit! And given that William was presently intoxicated, it was entirely up to her to bring things to a close. Marshaling the formidable sense of propriety her aunt and uncle had instilled in her, Jane carefully but decidedly extricated herself from their embrace.

"Good afternoon, Professor Randall," she said coolly, as if they were merely professional acquaintances. Jane dared not meet his eyes, nor did she risk a surreptitious glance back down the corridor as she exited the Agricultural Engineering Building. Whether he had likewise come to his senses or was simply too stunned by her abrupt dismissal to react, she did not know. But either way, it came down to the same result: He did not attempt to chase after her. This time, William let her go.

XXX

Jane did not go to the picnic. Nor did she run crying to the boarding house and bury herself in her bed. Instead, she took a measured walk along the banks of the South Skunk River and, in a confounded but rational manner, spent the rest of the afternoon examining her and the professor's previous interactions so she could determine how in heaven's name they had gotten to the point of illicit embraces. William's kisses had awakened something in her, given her some strange, heightened sense of observation, and Jane was now seeing things that she had completely missed previously. Long before this fateful afternoon, she had often felt the professor's eyes on her when she was busy working. And during the past few weeks, his gaze had distracted her to such a degree that she had begun to sneak glances at him in return. Jane was both surprised and perplexed by the intensity of what she saw – it seemed to her that he was regarding her with a mingled expression of warmth, affection and wistfulness. The first two emotions made her heart flutter pleasantly, but she found the third utterly inscrutable. Yet whenever Jane mustered up the impertinence to turn toward William for closer examination, she discovered she must have been mistaken in such estimations; his smile was always benign, no matter how quickly she turned her head. And she did not like to look stealthily at her employer too often, as the resultant impish twinkle in his eyes made her blush like a "naughty girl," indeed.

Initially, Jane had taken William's surreptitious glances as those of a man appreciating a diligent employee, one for whom he possessed an avuncular affection. Given the events that occurred earlier, she had been correct inasmuch as he was fond of her. Where Jane had been utterly mistaken was as to the precise nature of his regard. He _loved_ her. Not as a father loves his daughter or an uncle loves his niece. William loved her as a man loves a woman.

Jane had to pause in her ruminations; her heart was pounding and her breath was coming in the same shallow gasps as it had when he kissed her. As to her own feelings on this matter – why, they were absolutely infuriating! While Jane freely admitted to herself that she loved William Randall in return, and had loved him for a long time – engaging in any further delusion on that point would be eminently unwise, as it had made her miss crucial signs and thus gotten her into trouble in the first place – she would not allow her spirit to revel in the same sentiment that was presently inflaming her physical frame.

Forcing herself to take several deep, calming breaths, Jane returned her attention to the serious problem at hand. Now that she had reviewed the particulars leading up to the situation, what should be her next course of action? She knew full well her aunt and uncle would wish her to cease her employment and return home to Marshalltown, for to remain William's secretary after he had kissed her would make her a coconspirator in adultery. Principle and propriety alone demanded that she resign as soon as she possibly could.

Yet Jane could not bring herself to make such a rash decision. First and foremost, she had practical reasons for holding on to her position: Not only did it pay well enough to allow her to save for college as well as contribute to her family's income, she truly enjoyed her work and found the subject of zoology fascinating. Secondly, William's amorous advances were likely an irregularity, as he knew just how wrong they were: He rued his behavior aloud even as his lips caressed her neck. Furthermore, he was not himself, as liquor lowered a man's inhibitions: Had the professor not been drinking and had she not remained alone with him this afternoon, he would never have kissed her in the first place. Finally – and perhaps most importantly – no one had witnessed their embrace. So there would be too many questions if Jane simply resigned, and she was such a terrible liar she would not be able to invent an irreproachable rationale. Despite her naiveté, Jane was discerning enough to realize that even though the last thing she and William had meant to do was fall in love, most people would unfairly condemn them not only for their actions, but for having the temerity to develop such feelings in the first place.

Whatever Jane decided, she would have to face William again, or risk bringing scandal upon both their heads. Despite his romantic overtures, she refused to denounce him as a mere cad; he had been a dear friend to her, and she ought to allow him the opportunity to atone for his misdeeds. Therefore, her best course of action at present was to wait a little while longer before drawing her ultimate conclusion. Tomorrow morning, her employer was likely to be recovered from his indulgence, and she needed to broach an unpleasant but necessary discussion with him before she could make her decision. Depending on William's reaction – she must stop calling him that, she must refer to him strictly as Professor Randall, even in the privacy of her own thoughts – Jane would then have a much better idea of how to proceed.

Thus decided, she hastened back to the boarding house and washed up for dinner – lest Mrs. Mueller's sharp nose detect the essence of brandy and kisses about her. Although Jane's pristine ensemble and neat hair earned her an approving nod, she had hardly any appetite and merely picked at her food. But she refused to bemoan her low spirits; instead, she congratulated herself for maintaining an unassailable sense of dignity in the face of heartache.

XXX

While it wasn't too difficult to excise scandal and sin from her thoughts during her waking hours, Jane could not control where her mind decided to dwell when she fell asleep. Despite her refusal to revel in her illicit embrace with Professor Randall – or perhaps because of it – her dreams that night were unabashedly lurid. Her subconscious not content with mere kissing, Jane found herself entwined with William in one feverishly torrid embrace after another, as if they had become living models of the explicit illustrations she'd seen in his books. Yet even in the midst of slumber she knew it was wrong to indulge in such wanton fancies, and shook herself awake as soon as she realized these passionate trysts were merely dreams. However, once she rolled over and slipped back into a doze, the debauchery would resume right where it left off.

After this long and arduous night of disturbed repose, Jane was eager to rise and begin the day. However, her enthusiasm quickly faded when she remembered the unpleasant task looming ahead of her. By the time she descended the stairs and took her place at the breakfast table, her stomach was so unsettled by nervousness and dread that she dared not take more than a bite or two of food. As Jane had not eaten much at dinner the evening before, Mrs. Mueller regarded her with a frown. So in addition to being unable to eat, she also had the added struggle of maintaining a veneer of cheerful normalcy beneath her guardian's calculating stare.

Thankfully, the other girls noticed absolutely nothing amiss, and their animated chatter soon claimed the matron's attention. While Mrs. Mueller was busy scolding the young ladies for their lack of decorum, Jane took the opportunity to slip away from the boarding house, lest she be detained for questioning. Normally, Jane would have welcomed the august matron's interference. However, she got the uncomfortable feeling she would not find assistance, but rather censure for letting things go so far in the first place. For Jane now knew the trouble had started long before Professor Randall kissed her. From the beginning, he had been her only mentor, friend and confidante in Ames; it therefore seemed inevitable she would develop a girlish infatuation for the man she esteemed above all others. As her aunt or uncle might have phrased it, she ought not to have put so many of her eggs into one basket. Because William was likewise detached from society proper to his station, he had looked to her for company in return. And see what came of it! Now everything was broken and scrambled, and there was no one to help her sort out this terrible mess.

Yet Jane refused to descend into self-pity; her aunt and uncle had raised her much better than that. Unable to seek wise counsel from an elder or sympathy from a female peer, she would simply have to muddle through this one on her own. Squaring her shoulders, Jane set off for work with a determined stride.

However, while she entered the Agricultural Engineering Building with her head held admirably high, Professor Randall was not in his office. At first, Jane's shoulders sagged in sheer relief, and she got right down to her usual duties – though her eyes darted toward the door at every little creak. Her skittishness gradually ebbed with each passing hour, until Jane found herself growing downright annoyed at her employer's absence. Here _she_ was, fully prepared to deal with the alarming dynamic between them, and William was the one avoiding the situation!

The lack of sustenance finally catching up to her, Jane's stomach began to rumble, and she contemplated taking an early lunch. But her appetite immediately fled when the door clicked open and Professor Randall skulked into the room. Jane found her employer's uncharacteristic meekness unsettling – even if he was in the wrong, this was _his_ office.

"Good morning, Professor Randall," Jane chirruped, hoping to prompt him into his usual confident stride.

William's posture did straighten encouragingly at her greeting, but the smile he gave her in return was just as forced as her lackadaisical cheer. "Good morning, Miss Peabody."

As Professor Randall took a seat at his desk, Jane pretended to return her focus to the task in front of her. But in truth, she was surreptitiously trying to assess if this was the proper time to open a discussion. While it was not in her nature to procrastinate, the situation was far too delicate to go blundering rudely into frank conversation, as was her usual wont. And if truth be told, she was feeling anything but coherent at the moment. So Jane remained where she was, and contented herself with glancing at her employer as often as she could manage without drawing attention to herself.

Fortunately, Professor Randall seemed to be recovered from yesterday's revelry; the odor of brandy had long faded and he was impeccably groomed as ever. But his expression spoke volumes: Clearly, William was dejected, exhausted and dreadfully out of sorts. Even as she felt a pang of sympathy at his plight, Jane resentfully wondered if, after canoodling with her, he returned home and made peace with his wife last night. Perhaps that was why he was so late to work this morning; perhaps he and his wife were too busy savoring a long-awaited reconciliation. Unbidden, she imagined the two of them entwined in a conjugal embrace, and the thought made her sick with envy. In a fit of rebellion, Jane indulged in an exhilarating reverie of William coming home to _her_, disheveled and unruly and displaying the same passion as he had the afternoon before… and then she had to put a stop to such imaginings, as her stomach could not abide the spasmodic sensations they incited.

"Miss Peabody, please come over here," Professor Randall gravely intoned, shattering her daydream.

Suddenly conscious that she was now staring intently in his direction, and had been doing so for the past several minutes, Jane gasped and averted her eyes. But at the same time, she obediently rose to her feet and approached the professor's desk, her stomach now flip-flopping with excitement and terror. Marshaling her composure, she raised her head again. What she saw broke her heart: Not only was there was no warmth in William's expression, he was regarding her with a cold, inexorable sternness.

"Miss Peabody, I behaved very badly yesterday," he said impassively. "My boorish conduct was entirely the result of ill temper and excessive consumption of liquor; not only do I apologize for my indecorous declarations, I rescind them entirely. Of course, I understand if you must resign" – he paused, and a hint of dismay imbued his gaze – "but I assure you, the events of yesterday afternoon will never happen again. You've been a diligent secretary and crucial assistant to my research, and it is my hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me and remain in your present employment."

At first, Jane could only gape at him. Could this really be the same man who had so ardently kissed her the day before? The frown lines had not only reemerged, they seemed permanently etched in his countenance; he looked as ancient as Methuselah. Whereas Jane felt so very young and foolish; once again, she had been utterly mistaken in her assumptions. William – no, Professor Randall – did not love her, after all; he had simply gotten carried away by loneliness and indignation at his circumstances. Jane ought to have felt relieved and grateful for this turn of events; with his words, he had set them both back on the straight and narrow, and in a way that allowed her to maintain both her position and her principles. But Jane's traitorous heart burned with disappointment. Suddenly, it seemed quite easy for her to cease thinking of her employer by his Christian name. Which was just as well; it was long past time for her to relinquish such imprudent blandishments, and embrace both propriety and practicality.

"Professor Randall," Jane began, launching into the stilted but heartfelt speech of forgiveness she had been planning all along, "I thank you for your apology. I would also like to ask your forgiveness for my contributions to yesterday's indiscretion; what might have appeared as reciprocation of desire was simply hapless inexperience – and if truth be told, a touch of curiosity, as well."

Professor Randall's mouth dropped open and, for a brief moment, he looked as inclined to mutinous protestation as Jane had felt a moment before. But he seemed to think better of saying anything, and remained silent.

Though her heart continued to prickle with dissatisfaction, Jane maintained her scrupulously civil demeanor and continued, "I confess that I have indeed been pondering the possibility of resignation, although I would be loath to rescind a position that provides an ample living and allows me to engage in work I personally find fascinating. Fortunately, your assurances have decided me: I will remain your secretary for the foreseeable future."

With a gruff but appreciative nod, Professor Randall motioned for her to return to what she was doing. While Jane was not foolish enough to expect even a flicker of joy at her pronouncement, she couldn't help being rather irked by his unmoved reaction, all the same. Still, she swallowed her sense of pique and gave her employer a gracious smile before resuming her duties. However, even though she spent the rest of the afternoon genuinely engrossed in the task before her, the work she once found so interesting now seemed to have completely lost its zest.

XXX

Although Jane had accepted Professor Randall's apology and pledged to act as though nothing had ever occurred between them, she felt a raw, terrible hollowness in her breast all day Sunday – a sensation that only worsened when she tried to fall asleep that night. Somehow, the notion of William embracing her merely because she provided a convenient cipher for his frustrated yearnings hurt much worse than if he had truly meant his ardent declarations. And it wasn't just Jane's pride that was wounded – though what little feminine vanity she possessed did indeed feel the sting – her heart genuinely ached because the man she loved did not love her in return. Jane had never been prone to weeping, but she found herself desperately wishing for the release of tears to assuage this gnawing emptiness. But since she could not cry, she simply lay in bed until she eventually slipped into slumber. Mercifully, her repose was heavy and dreamless.

However, even sleep could not provide solace; Jane awoke feeling just as crestfallen and dejected as she had the night before. Though her appetite had finally returned and her favorite breakfast was being served that morning, she was unable to relish her food; it might as well have been lukewarm porridge rather than the soft-boiled eggs, ham and buttered rolls she was presently eating. Mrs. Mueller once again regarded her charge with a vaguely disapproving frown throughout the morning meal, but as Jane's hair and gown were neat and she cleaned her plate, she did not have to bear any interrogation or scolding.

Even though it was a pleasant day weather-wise and the vistas remained as vast and beautiful as ever, the walk to work was tedious; even the glories of wide-open farmland could not move Jane's soul this morning. Had her mood not been so lackluster, she would have felt concerned by her lack of interest. Instead, she simply accepted her new disposition as a matter of course and continued inexorably onward. Her heart was jolted by a sharp pang of alarm when she discovered Professor Randall's office empty upon her arrival, but once she found his note that he would be in the laboratory all morning, the benumbing sense of dullness quickly reasserted itself. But even in her ennui, Jane was nothing if not dutiful, and whiled away the bland hours in her usual secretarial business.

Jane had meant to demonstrate nonchalant poise when Professor Randall returned to the office around noon, but upon his arrival, her heart gave its usual pleasant flutter. At this sudden reawakening of her senses, she couldn't help greeting her employer with a warm and unguarded smile; despite her heartbreak, life still seemed somehow brighter once William had walked into the room. And when his expression lit up to see her, Jane's heart fluttered even more pleasantly. Perhaps they could move beyond the previous week's peccadillo and resume a cordial relationship, after all.

However, she did not expect to join Professor Randall for lunch, nor did he issue any such invitations. And for all his beaming in response to her affable salutation, his eyes didn't quite meet hers and the resulting conversation between the two of them was nothing more than bland pleasantries and work-related matters. Yet even these scraps were as manna from heaven to Jane; it soothed her simply to be in William's presence.

But her reprieve from bleakness was short-lived; once his business was concluded, the professor returned to the laboratory. Feeling an odd mix of amusement and annoyance, Jane wondered if he planned to avoid inhabiting his own office for as long as she was employed as his secretary.

To her relief and delight, Professor Randall was present when she arrived to work on Tuesday morning, and he remained in residence a good deal of the day. However, the atmosphere steadily grew strained as the hours passed; following the lead of her employer's scrupulous decorum, Jane found herself naturally talking askance at him and carefully avoiding his eyes. Rather than being a pacifying influence, his presence now compounded her dismay, making her heart flutter with a sensation that she could only describe as exquisite agony; after the close friendship and intimate embrace they'd shared together, it was maddening to have to live side by side as nothing more than polite acquaintances.

Against her better judgment, Jane began to gaze longingly at William when he wasn't watching. But she never felt his eyes on her in return. Yet she would not allow herself to luxuriate in martyrdom to lovelorn fancy; each time her heart pained to witness the professor's aloofness, she sternly reminded herself that this was as things should be. Despite his ardent declarations, he did _not_ love her. She simply happened to catch him at a vulnerable moment. While Professor Randall may have been estranged from his wife, he was far too much of a gentleman to fall in love with another woman when he was already married. And if Jane had not been such a naïve little fool, she would have left the office the moment her employer poured his first glass of brandy – and avoided such amorous disasters in the first place!

And so the days continued to pass, slowly and drearily. On each of those days, Jane realized afresh how terribly lonely she was – and just what her illicit kiss had cost her. Now she had absolutely no one to talk to, no friend to make her meager existence a little less bleak. Food remained tasteless, sleep was unsatisfying – once again, Jane was beset by dreams filled with wanton sensuality – and she found herself growing uncharacteristically peevish in temperament. Robbed of meaningful conversation with William – oh, how she missed their scintillating daily exchanges! – Jane could no longer abide the incessant, idle chatter of her frivolous housemates. So she began to snap at them to cease their foolish prattling. Naturally, the girls resented the newfound airs of their previously agreeable listener, and began contemptuously referring to her as "Fraulein Jane" – though never in Mrs. Mueller's hearing.

Fortunately, by the time Saturday afternoon rolled around, Jane managed to recover a little of her usual cheer. As the long week finally drew to a close, she was looking forward to her day of rest on Sunday. Not that she would actually be resting; believing that idle hands were the devil's workshop, Mrs. Mueller never allowed the girls to lie abed in the morning. There was church to attend, and then the young ladies must spend their afternoon occupied in wholesome reading, needlework, or other demure pursuits. Still, Jane anticipated tomorrow with relief; hopefully, the respite from work would ease her present sorrows, and next week wouldn't be so unpleasant. And as her heart gradually adjusted to a life of solitude, her enthusiasm for zoology, sustenance and long strolls was sure to return. It certainly helped that the weather was so accommodating – though it was the middle of August, they were not plagued overmuch by humidity. A brisk constitutional before supper would be just the thing to work up an appetite…

Encouraged by these faint glimmers of progress, Jane smiled – though it was a ghost of her usual merry rictus. Professor Randall was in the office this afternoon, but she had forgotten to watch him for once, and hummed to herself as she typed his latest research notes.

Shortly before five, Jane became conscious that _she_ was being watched. Hazarding a sideways glance toward the desk, she caught sight of Professor Randall's gaze fixed squarely on her. What's more, he looked both entranced and wistful at the tableau before him. Startled, Jane turned to face him fully, and their eyes met for the first time since the afternoon they'd kissed. He did not attempt to look away, and she was further staggered to see not only affection, but desire in his expression – which seemed all the more powerful, now that his countenance was not fogged with intoxication.

Jane ought to have turned away and pretended not to notice. Instead, she found herself returning Professor Randall's ardent gaze. For a long while, they simply looked at each other, saying with their eyes everything that their mouths were not at liberty to reveal. During this silent exchange, Jane realized that despite the explanations he had given for his advances and despite his stolid demeanor during the past week, William loved her as deeply and wholeheartedly as she loved him.

But tonight, he was far too sober to succumb to the temptation their solitude presented. Wisely, Professor Randall averted his eyes, gathered his papers, and coolly bade his secretary a good evening. As she likewise made her way home, Jane beamed in elated triumph – his declarations had been genuine, after all!

However, as she reveled in the veracity of his feelings, her exhilaration was swiftly replaced by crushing misery. What did it matter if William loved her in return? He was still a married man! Now things were even worse than before; knowing that he reciprocated her feelings completely dashed any possibility of overcoming her despair that they could never be together. What was she to do now?

There was only one thing to do: She must resign her position.

This realization hit Jane full force the moment she went to bed. She could no longer argue against this course of action, for the situation had become too untenable for her to remain Professor Randall's secretary any longer. They were often alone together, and such enticing circumstances would eventually weaken their resolve; the longer she stayed, the more likely it was they'd end up committing adultery in body as well as in spirit. It was time to submit her resignation and return home to her aunt and uncle in Marshalltown. If she wished to maintain her decency, resignation was her only option; permanent separation was the only way she could circumvent the ignominy of loving a man she should not.

After arriving to the conclusion that she would indeed have to part ways with William, the tears finally came: Jane sobbed bitterly and uncontrollably into her pillow until exhaustion finally claimed her in heavy slumber.

XXX

The following morning, it was all Jane could do to drag herself out of bed and get dressed by the time Mrs. Mueller clumped down the hall at seven forty-five a.m. Glumly, she completed her morning ablutions, not even caring that her gown was mussed, her eyes were red-rimmed and her hair was even more untamable than usual. But she should have paid more attention to her appearance; as she approached the breakfast table, the girls goggled at her, and then began to giggle amongst themselves. After silencing them all with a brief but forceful invective in German, Mrs. Mueller ordered Jane to go right back upstairs.

Mutinously, Jane opened her mouth to protest – after having eaten barely anything for days and nothing at all last night, she was famished – but the matron's steely glare intimidated her into silence. Her shoulders slumping, Jane returned to her bedroom. Denied the right to speak, her indignant words coalesced into a disconcerting lump in her throat. She had been looking forward to breakfast as a way to soothe her frayed nerves and provide the nourishment she could not get from sleep; how in heaven's name was she going to get through the long morning without any kind of sustenance whatsoever? She needed all the strength she could muster to weather the impending church service, let alone figure out how she was going to leave her position without causing scandal! As Jane crossed the threshold of her sleeping quarters, a sudden, powerful rebelliousness flared up and overwhelmed her senses; banging the door shut behind her, she let out a desperate sob and collapsed into bed.

Far be it from her to question the wisdom of the Almighty, but why did He feel the need to take her mother and father away from her at such a tender age, leaving her to the mercy of relatives who were only capable of expressing their regard through cold concern of duty? And then, after her materially comfortable but largely cheerless childhood, why did Providence proceed to lead her to this barren and friendless place? He had to have known she couldn't help falling in love with the only person who had ever been tender with her. Did He loathe her, and wish for her to tumble headfirst into adultery and ruin? Because for all Jane's decent and upright living, her life was terribly, utterly empty – she had no parents to soothe her pain, no girlfriends to confide her troubles to, and no beau to hold her and tell her that he loved her. But perhaps she was only fooling herself that William's look the day before indicated something as profound as love. For even though he had whispered such beautiful things in between his kisses and caresses, his rueful apology the next morning effectively nullified the idea he truly felt any sentiment deeper than mere, animal lust for her.

In her bereft state, Jane found herself genuinely regretting that Professor Randall was far too decent a man to act on his baser impulses. For what was the point of struggling to be so good – so _chaste_ – if she had absolutely nothing to show for it? Perhaps there was no God, after all – only a vacant universe that provided nothing more than an unfeeling backdrop for the frivolity and misery of humanity as they went about their petty business. Living a scrupulously moral existence was meaningless in a reality where happiness was only achieved through the vagaries of beauty and fortune, and odd ducks like her were condemned by their own wretchedness and ill luck to scramble for meager crumbs of joy like a beggar at the fringes of a sumptuous banquet. If there was no supreme creator, no heaven and no hell, what was to stop her from forsaking propriety altogether and cleaving, just this once, to the only man who had ever felt something warm and feverish for her?

Such selfish, blasphemous thoughts made Jane tremble even more intensely, and fear of her commotion being overheard quickly overtook her. It was bad enough she had slammed the door; that was sure to earn her a scolding. Weeping would only make Mrs. Mueller crosser. So Jane bit her lip and dashed the tears from her eyes. However, she had no will to rise and neaten her ensemble, even though she knew she must, lest she increase the trouble she was already in. However, Jane continued to lay face-down in her pillow, and did not even flinch when her door creaked open. Let Mrs. Mueller rebuke her for indolence and disarray – with nothing in life to look forward to, she no longer cared what happened to her.

But as it turned out, she was doing exactly what the matron wanted. "_Goot_," her unmistakably German voice declared. "You will stay in bed."

Stunned, Jane raised her head and rolled onto her side. Mrs. Mueller was standing at the foot of her bed and holding a tray laden with a tall mug of tea, steaming bowl of chicken soup, and thick slab of hearty wheat bread. A flood of relief and gratitude coursed through Jane at the welcome sight of nourishment – she could have kissed the woman, even though she knew such affectionate overtures would be both unwanted and inappropriate. Perhaps there _was_ a benevolent higher power, after all.

As Jane ravenously tucked in to the meal, Mrs. Mueller plunked down into the desk chair and watched the proceedings as intently as a hawk scanning a field for mice. "You are working too hard," she admonished, with concern but no warmth in her tone. "If I catch you out of bed or neglecting your food today, your aunt and uncle will be hearing from me tomorrow."

Jane swallowed nervously. "I promise to rest and eat," she said in a small voice. The last thing she wanted was for her aunt and uncle to find out anything was amiss. And luckily, it was Sunday – though she would miss church, she did not have to work, so William wouldn't realize anything was amiss with her, either – at least, not yet.

Lest she be barred from leaving her bed on Monday morning as well, Jane was careful to maintain strict convalescence under Mrs. Mueller's watchful eye – although as the day wore on, she started to feel a wicked and ungrateful sense of resentment. Must the matron hover over her like this? Now that Jane had eaten and slept, what she really wanted was the solitude to sort out her dismay and perhaps even shed a few tears as she prepared her resignation speech. Failing that, a little sympathy from the woman who insisted on monitoring her every move would have done wonders for her mood. But as Jane regarded her guardian's perpetually unsmiling expression, she sadly reflected that to wish for more tender nursing from the matron was akin to pleading for water from a stone. The only way Jane could regain the freedom to walk and wonder alone was to eat with a hearty appetite, get a decent night's repose, and unhesitatingly obey Mrs. Mueller's every directive until she was declared fit once more.

XXX

Fortunately, Jane woke up in a much better frame of mind on Monday morning. To her relief, Mrs. Mueller pronounced her healthy enough to return to work, although she threatened that if Jane didn't arrive to the boarding house by five-thirty that evening and every evening from now on, she would come to campus and fetch her home. Jane had to stifle a giggle as she imagined Professor Randall and Mrs. Mueller at loggerheads – the confrontation between these two formidable entities would truly be something to see!

But then Jane remembered that she was going to be resigning from her position this morning, and her mirth vanished. Knowing that she was on her final journey to the imposing but beautiful Agricultural Engineering Building, she walked as slowly as possible, gazing fiercely at the horizon and avidly taking in every single detail. Though Jane was aware that she must have looked utterly daft, she cared only to burn the vast pastoral landscape irrevocably into her memory, before she must return to the hustle and bustle of Marshalltown. She would miss these broad panoramas immensely, as they afforded her silence and solitude she could not easily find in her booming industrial hometown.

As ever, Jane had taken great pains to present a polished appearance, but her dawdling in windy fields had almost completely negated her morning ablutions; even more curls than usual floated freely around her face as she pulled open the wide double doors of her soon-to-be-former place of employment. With a wistful twinge in the pit of her stomach, Jane recalled that William _liked_ her hair disheveled, so she did not attempt to neaten it as she approached his office.

But perhaps it would have been wiser for her to re-pin her unruly ringlets, after all. As soon as she entered the room, Professor Randall's eyes widened in delight and the most engaging of smiles lit up his countenance. Though he quickly recovered himself and quelled the brightness in his gaze, her concentration was irretrievably shattered.

Agonizing over her impending resignation, Jane had spent a good deal of the previous day carefully preparing her speech. But upon seeing William's enchantment at her appearance, the words flew right out of her head, and she breathlessly blurted out, "I have to resign."

Except for a brief flash of anguish in his eyes, Professor Randall maintained faultless composure. "I know," he said calmly.

Jane's inward recriminations at her complete lack of tact were lost in a swell of astonishment. After the way William had just looked at her, she would have expected his shoulders to slump in sorrow at her pronouncement, or for him to lash out in a sudden and ardent temper. Not this cool nonchalance. Flabbergasted, Jane could only gape at him.

Yet Professor Randall's bearing was stately as ever as he continued in a level voice, "Your resignation is sensible; it would be folly for me to persuade you to stay on as my personal secretary. But I have to ask out of concern for your reputation: Have you considered what you're going to tell your aunt and uncle? Or even Mrs. Mueller and the other young ladies at the boarding house? They will surely pepper you with questions as to why you have chosen to leave your lucrative position, seemingly out the blue."

Jane shrugged listlessly. She had indeed considered this dilemma, but as she still had no solution, she supposed she would have to cross that bridge when she came to it. But she was a terrible liar; her gossip-greedy peers would sniff out her scandal in a moment. "I don't know what I'm going to tell everyone," she admitted, shamefaced.

Professor Randall smiled understandingly at her, as if he'd surmised this would be the case. "Not to worry, I have just the thing: You can tell them that you're leaving because you've won a full scholarship to the University of Iowa. It's rather short notice, as fall term is due to start in two weeks, but the timing for such a momentous stroke of luck is not overly suspicious." A despondent note entered his voice. "After our… encounter, I knew it wouldn't be long before you came to the conclusion that you had to resign. So I exercised my influence and called in a favor from a well-connected colleague at the University. Not that a young woman of your intelligence couldn't have attained such a prestigious honor on merit alone – but it was the least I could do to atone for my behavior." He gestured to an envelope on his desk. "This letter of congratulations contains all the particulars regarding the award."

Her heart pounding, Jane stepped forward to retrieve the document. This was almost too much for her to comprehend. She experienced such an onslaught of emotion as to be rendered almost hopelessly inarticulate; all she could do was mumble a paltry "thank you" as she beheld this miraculous alibi for resignation in her trembling hands. Later, Jane wished she had phrased her gratitude far more eloquently. But Professor Randall seemed to understand her perfectly, and merely regarded her with a warm look.

Their conversation concluded, it was time for Jane to leave. But somehow, she couldn't believe this was really the end of their association. There might not have been any practical matters left to discuss, but they still had so much to say to each other, so much unfinished business to resolve. Far be it from Jane to surrender to the baser inclinations of the flesh, but she wanted her final moments with William to be more than this restrained, polite exchange.

However, the longer Jane stood there clutching the envelope that would preserve her reputation and trying to formulate a farewell that was tender but still within the bounds of propriety, the harder it became to hold back the tears massing behind her gaze. But she mustn't cry. The affection in William's eyes was now intensifying into downright longing; if she began to weep, he would surely take her in his arms. Realizing the atmosphere between them had grown too precarious for her to linger, Jane finally relinquished her quest for the perfect parting words.

"Good bye, Professor Randall," she stammered, and quitted his office for good.

XXX

But once again, William – she gave up completely on formal address at this point – followed her down the hall. Hearing the familiar, insistent footfalls behind her, Jane paused to stow her scholarship letter safely in her satchel before turning to face the man she loved. Thoroughly out of resolve, she did not offer so much as a token protest when he wordlessly took her by the arm and led her to his laboratory. Once they were safely inside, he closed the door and locked it and, even though the room was windowless, he whisked her into a dim alcove. Then Jane's satchel slipped heedlessly from her fingers to the floor as William's arms encircled her waist and his mouth found hers, and she was clutching not at a slim sheet of paper, but the broad shoulders of her dear professor. When he pressed forward for a deeper kiss, her lips immediately parted to welcome his advances. Somewhere in the midst of William's dizzying embrace, Jane became conscious that there were tears streaming down her cheeks, but she paid them no heed, and kissed her beloved passionately in return.

However, William soon perceived the dampness of her cheeks, and remorsefully parted his lips from hers. "Jane," he sighed, "I can't tell you how sorry I am – for everything. I've driven away secretaries before, but never like this. If I wasn't able to get you a scholarship in time for fall term, I would've instructed you to tell people I was an ogre and that you were well rid of me. With my reputation for being an impossible-to-please curmudgeon, no one would have questioned your resignation further, and the gossipmongers would have left you alone – "

Jane interrupted with an anguished cry. "Never! I could never say such awful, untrue things," she vehemently avowed, and tightened her arms around him. "Dearest William" – it was such a relief to speak this endearment aloud – "I could never preserve my reputation by besmirching _yours_."

William looked both flattered and undone. "Oh, Jane… " he started to say, and then his mouth was on hers once more. But to her dismay, he soon ended their kiss again, and asked with concern, "Will your aunt and uncle be suspicious that you've suddenly won a scholarship?"

"On the contrary, they'll be overjoyed," Jane said with a sad smile. "They've always wanted that for me – mainly because I'm more likely to find a suitable husband as a college student than as a personal secretary."

"They're quite right," he nodded – though his eyes shone with regret. "A woman of your prodigious talents is completely wasted here – I've always thought that. Your attending college is exactly as things should be."

Unusually, Jane was in no state to agree to this rightness. For she could not fathom why, after they had both lived lives that were upright and moral and decent, their hearts should betray them and lead them into this grave sin. Wrapped tightly in the arms of the man she loved, Jane could not hold back the intensity of her feelings. "I don't want to find a suitable husband," she said miserably. "I want _you_, William."

"You mustn't waste your youth pining over me," William admonished – but there was a soft look in his eyes, as if it made his heart ache a little less to hear her rail so fiercely against the relentless strictures of propriety. "Even if I was free to marry you, I would try as I hard as I could _not_ to propose."

"You would not propose?" Jane let out a bleak laugh. She ought to have known that even the one man who actually loved her would not think her suitable for marriage!

Her expression must have revealed the precise nature of her dismay, because William tenderly caressed her cheek and added by way of explanation, "Jane, if I was ten years younger and a free man, you'd be my wife as soon as we could arrange the wedding. But in all likelihood, I'm not going to be much longer for this world; I drink too much, work too hard and neglect my health. Even I'm not selfish enough to ask a beautiful, intelligent and gifted young woman to spend her prime years looking after a stubborn old man in his dotage – no matter how much we enjoy each other's company. And if our union produced any children, I'd be sure to leave you a struggling widow." He kissed her softly on the lips. "I'm honored that you love me as much as I love you. But it's best if you forget about me, Jane, and find happiness where you can."

Practically, Jane knew he was right; even if William were a bachelor, their mutual love and esteem could not overrule the impracticality of such a match. But she still couldn't acquiesce to such awful, inexorable rightness. So she kissed William instead, prolonging their farewell even more. Wanting to etch the feel of the man she loved in her memory, Jane caressed as much of him as she dared, running her hands through his graying tawny waves, and then over his shoulders and down his back. William did the same to her, his fingers slowly but heatedly tracing the contours of her neck, the column of her back, and the curve of her waist and hips. And of course, he luxuriated in her hair, whispering sweet compliments to her tresses in between kisses. Even in her reverie, Jane could not share his admiration for her disorderly curls, but this didn't stop her from reveling in the romance of his regard for her dishevelment; she knew that whenever she struggled to arrange her hair over the course of what was likely to be a long and lonely spinster life, she would recall William's words and treasure them.

And Jane would _never_ forget the feel of his mouth on hers – William's kisses had been wonderful before, but now that he was no longer muddled by a brandy-fueled stupor, they were downright intoxicating. He embraced her with the same, sheer passion as he had on that fateful Friday afternoon, but there was an adeptness to his ardor that hadn't been present before. Jane's growing familiarity with such intimacies also lent a new dexterity to their embrace; the rhythm of their kiss was both effortless and fervent, for they now met each other as confidently in this arena as they had parried in intellectual discussion. Delighted to discover that proficiency in amour could indeed be achieved through practice, Jane warmly reciprocated William's tender ministrations, pulling him closer so she could kiss him all the more deeply. When her guileless but insistent tugging brought his hips solidly in contact with hers, she felt a jolt of pure pleasure in the pit of her stomach and, with a soft moan, pressed even nearer to the man she loved.

But perhaps Jane was a little _too_ welcoming in her affections; almost as soon as their bodies met in this fashion, William groaned and abruptly took a step back, their lips parting perforce at this separation. "Jane," he gasped, "we'd better ease up a little bit. I brought you to my laboratory so we couldn't get that close – I have no doubt that if I took you back to my office, the divan would prove too much of a temptation in that regard."

Mortified by her forwardness, Jane bowed her head. "I'm sorry, Professor Randall," she said, purposely reverting to formal address so as to increase the sense of distance between them. "You must think _me _a cad – it's not my intention to entice you into adultery."

He cupped her cheek and brought her to look at him again. "It's _William_," he hotly reiterated. "Always William. And I won't have you apologizing for the natural outcomes of an innocent desire. If anything, it's my fault for awakening passion in you – first with my books, and then with my kisses." William sighed and pulled Jane's head to rest on his shoulder. "The wrong man has opened your eyes to the world of physical love… I can't tell you how dearly I wish I'd destroyed those books long before I lost track of them; how much agony this might have spared us both!" He brushed her forehead tenderly with his lips. "I've broken your heart, Jane… but I hope you won't let this turn you into a Miss Havisham who shuts herself off from the warmth of human companionship. You're very young, and you have your whole life ahead of you – other men will inevitably look your way, especially when you get to college in a few weeks. They'll be a lot better men than I – younger, smarter, more-genial fellows looking to settle down with a woman like you, who'll provide them with a loving home and keep them in proper order. When you meet that man who warms your heart and excites your mind, you mustn't feel guilty about encouraging his attentions. My only caution is for you not to mistake physical attraction for lasting love, as I did."

"No," Jane whimpered, burying her head deeper in the crook of his neck. Though her nature was not inclined toward Dickensian bitterness, she was incapable of imagining herself loving anyone but William this intensely. Even if she knew a future with him was impossible, she was presently wrapped in _his_ arms, and could not be so callous as to look forward to the plethora of eager suitors he was certain she'd meet at the University of Iowa! And William – dear, chivalrous William – was so blinded by love and loneliness that he did not realize how unique his attraction to her truly was. No man had ever regarded her with such passion, or even admiration.

_And no man ever will_, Jane glumly reflected. Scholars did not particularly want erudite wives – they wanted beautiful and polished ladies who could play the elegant hostess and manage all the domestic affairs while they puttered about in their laboratories and ruminated on the mysteries of the universe. After all, had not William married such a woman? Despite his postulations that their attraction merely stemmed from mutual admiration of each other's beauty, he had previously mentioned that his wife's gracious parties, while tiresome, gained him some important friends during the early years of their marriage. Part of the reason he got away with being so cantankerous, even to the dean, was that he had such a charming – if frivolous – wife. William owed at least part of his successful career to his wife's deft social machinations, and he knew it – he had told his secretary all these things during one of their ill-advised lunches together.

Even in those early days, Jane had caught herself wondering how she measured up to William's glittering wife – though she stilled the excited fluttering such ideas caused in her stomach with the flimsy rationalization that her ruminations were merely academic. But she drew the same conclusions about her desirability now as she did then: While she could certainly keep a tidy home and serve as an able research assistant, she was too forthright and unsophisticated to make a favorable impression on the elite echelons a scholar would need to impress if he wished to advance his work. With all her little quirks in both looks and character, Jane was unlikely to be considered a prime catch even among the bookish university set.

But there was no use in telling William how mistaken he was in his suppositions; this was the only romantic moment they'd ever have together, and Jane refused to spoil it by disagreeing with him. Instead, she simply whimpered another "no" into his collar.

William chuckled and gave her another kiss, this time on her curls. "I don't suppose you need to be cautioned in regard to appearances, Jane – I know you're not some silly girl whose head is turned by superficial charm alone. After all, you fell in love with me – and I'm long past my prime in both looks and personality!" He sighed, and his good humor disappeared. "You're capable of wonderful depth of feeling, Jane. You'll experience this fervor again, hopefully for a much more suitable fellow the next time around – "

Jane's head jerked up and she looked the man she loved full in the eyes. "Please, William!" she admonished in an anguished voice. "As much as it breaks my heart to leave you, it hurts even more to hear you wish our feelings away. Even if our love is wrong and can never be fully realized, it is _honest_. Last week, when I thought you didn't love me – " Tears blurred her vision, and Jane paused to swallow the lump that came into her throat before continuing: "When I thought you didn't love me, I was ten times more heartbroken than I am now. I thought that if _you_ couldn't love me, even after kissing me, then I must be loathsome indeed – " A few tears escaped and streamed down her cheeks, and William opened his mouth to issue what was likely to be a heated protest, but she took a deep breath and persevered: "I've been waiting my whole life for someone to love me as deeply and intensely as I loved him – and I'm so glad it was you who reciprocated my feelings. Because I've loved you ever since you smiled at me on the first day we met."

The mutinous look in his expression was transformed into awe. "Is that true, Jane?"

Too overcome by emotion to speak further, Jane simply nodded.

Suddenly, William was kissing her again, hard and fierce. The last, lingering vestiges of maidenly hesitation completely obliterated, Jane did not hesitate to melt into his embrace, and when their hips met, he grasped her by the waist and they moved together even more frantically than they had before. Despite the fact they were standing in a cramped corner and remained fully clothed – William hadn't so much as attempted to slip a finger beneath the waistband of her skirt – they were now perilously close to making love in earnest. But self-recrimination would come later; Jane was too far gone to resist such amorous advances or curtail her wanton encouragement of his behavior, and bade William just as warm a farewell as he was presently bidding her.

Soon their exertions led to her being pressed against the wall, William's tongue continuously parting her willing lips and his hands raking straight down the sides of her body until they came to rest on her thighs. As he grasped her just beneath the curve of her posterior, one of her legs instinctively rose to curl around him – but was arrested midway in its progress by her constricting skirts. However, William let out a groan and held her thigh even tighter against him and, despite the many layers of clothing that prevented them from engaging in full congress, Jane easily perceived the hardness that was now thrusting dangerously close to her most intimate areas – areas which had grown alarmingly damp in response to such ardent attentions. Remembering the lurid descriptions she'd read in _Fanny Hill_ about the wondrous engorgements concealed behind the fastenings of men's trousers, and how some men were capable of swelling to enormous size when aroused, Jane began to tremble violently, even as she continued to match her lover's passionate movements.

Fortunately, William broke their kiss before they got further carried away. "No more – we have to stop now," he panted breathlessly. Although his hips separated from hers, Jane continued to quiver uncontrollably, and would have collapsed to the floor if he hadn't placed a steadying hand on her waist and brought her head to lie on his shoulder again. This close but careful embrace proved soothing to them both; as Jane felt her heart and breathing slow to normal, she felt the tension ebb from William's demeanor, as well. At first, they were content to enjoy this relaxed silence. But then she heard the professor's telltale intake of breath, and braced herself for another excruciating apology.

But to her surprise, William had something entirely different to say. "Upon further consideration, I find myself agreeing with your point of view. Our love is a blessing, even if it came at an importune time. After so many years of living a stolid existence, it's refreshing to be able to feel such passion as I haven't known in decades." He kissed her curls again. "Thank you for loving me, Jane."

Jane raised her head to look at him, this time with a smile. "I will always love you, William," she said softly. "No matter what suitable young men might come into my life."

He gave her a wistful smile in return. "I wish I could have been that suitable young man."

Their mouths met again, but their bodies did not; this time, the tenor of their kiss was gentle and sweet.

And so the secretary and professor spent the better part of an hour in his laboratory, exchanging kisses, caresses and whispered endearments, until she marshaled the strength to withdraw from the embrace of the man she loved, and he mustered up the will to let her go for good. But even though the two of them had finally parted, they continued to engage in additional domestic intimacies: William helped pin her hair into a presentable chignon, and Jane smoothed out the creases in his collar and tie. Knowing that this would be the last time they would be in such close contact, they completed these tasks as slowly as possible, savoring each other's touch.

Still, time marched inexorably onward, and eventually they had to cease even these small comforts. However, just as Jane was about to remove her hands from William's person, he caught her fingers in his and regarded her with plaintive eyes. "I think I'm going to miss this blandishment of yours the most."

Once again, they were in imminent danger of falling back into a disheveling embrace. But Jane had recovered her senses and, in a desperate effort to defuse the romantic atmosphere between them, blurted out the first thing that came to mind:

"Ever since I discovered those books in your closet, I've had dreams of us embracing just like the people in them."

Although William's eyes widened in happy astonishment at this statement, Jane blushed furiously crimson and turned away – grazing her nose against the wall as she did so. Oh, why must she be so clumsy in both the verbal and the physical arenas? "What a goose!" she reproached herself aloud.

"You're nothing of the kind," William averred, turning her back to him. "I've also dreamed of making love to you for the past several weeks, and I have no doubt that I'll continue to do so every night for the foreseeable future." He leaned in and sweetly brushed her lips with his – exactly the way he had kissed her the first time. "Perhaps we'll have the same dream at the same time, our spirits in communion even though our bodies can never be so united."

Jane gave him a wan smile. "How would we know the difference between a phantom of our own fantasies and a genuine tryst on the astral planes?"

William's eyes twinkled. "Perhaps we can devise a sign. You'll know it's really me and not a chimera of your mind's own making when I greet you with a gesture like this… " He gently kissed the tip of her poor, injured nose. "And then, just to make absolute sure, I'll do this… " He moved to kiss her on the sensitive spot just behind her ear.

Even as Jane reveled in his caresses, she wryly opined, "What's to stop my capricious mind from conjuring up these little details, too?"

"It doesn't matter," William whispered, his mouth tracing the outline of her ear. "As long as we both enjoy our time together before we must finally wake and go about our business."

Silence fell as they lingered in another embrace. "How can I possibly let you go, William?" Jane tearfully wondered aloud. "And yet, I must… "

"Yes, we must," William agreed, his voice just as thick as hers. He cleared his throat. "I'll tell you what I'm going to do: I'm going to pretend we're only parting for a brief interlude, and that we'll see each other again soon. And who knows? Perhaps this notion is truer than we realize; after all, we've agreed to meet in our dreams." He kissed her ear again. "Shall we try that?"

Jane nodded, and they let each other go. Ever the gentleman, William bent down to retrieve her satchel – and it seemed to Jane that he furtively took something from his suit-coat and transferred it to her personal effects, but she couldn't be entirely sure. However, she did not get the chance to question William when he turned and presented her satchel to her with a small smile, because he took her hand in his and gave the tips of her fingers, one by one, soft, open-mouthed kisses that made her shiver and close her eyes. And then, when Jane was finally finished reveling in this moment, William tugged her forward. As they headed toward the door, they walked lightly hand in hand, like beaus on a casual constitutional.

"I'd love nothing better than to accompany you to the boarding house," William said with a rueful harrumph, "but now that you won't be present to fetch books when I require them, I suppose I'd better set about re-learning my way around my own blasted library!"

Following his lead, Jane smiled blithely and informed him, "I've arranged your books according to the tenets of the marvelous Dewey Decimal System, so you should have no difficulty on that account." She paused only for a second as she considered what to say next; somehow, it was easier to come up with appropriate topics of conversation when she was not looking William in the eyes. "Thank you again for the scholarship; I will work hard, and try to be a credit to your recommendation."

By now, they had reached the entrance to the laboratory. But William kept her hand and placed his other one over hers, for good measure. Giving his former secretary the broad smile that had made her fall in love with him in the first place, he replied, "I'm certain you'll make me proud, Jane."

Pulling her to him for a brief but passionate final kiss, he let go of her and threw open the door. Without further ado, they exited into the hallway at a proper and respectable a distance as one would expect between a professor and his personal secretary. And then, after pausing for one last, long look, they turned away from each other and went their separate ways – William to his office, and Jane to the wide double doors leading out of the Agricultural Engineering Building.

XXX

Later, Jane was unable to recall precisely how the rest of the afternoon went; her walk back to the boarding house was a surreal blur. While contemplation of a life without William in it caused a dull ache to settle over her heart once more, Jane did not feel as terribly bereft as she had the previous week. For not only did William love her, Providence had kindly granted the two of them an opportunity for the warm farewell she'd been so desperately craving. Jane ought to be scolding herself for indulging in such torrid embraces with a married man, but she could not muster up the spirit to regret those sweet, fleeting moments they had belonged solely to each other. And their love, while inopportune, was not entirely selfish – in the end, they were able to let each other go before crossing the final threshold into infidelity.

Jane's memories of her remaining few days in Marshalltown were similarly hazy. While she did cry a little at the sting of her loss when she found herself alone and overcome by memory, in public she wore a sunny smile that wasn't entirely pretense; despite her sorrow at leaving the man she loved, she was genuinely delighted to be going to college. When Jane informed everyone at the boarding house of the impending change in her situation, Mrs. Mueller offered a hearty congratulations and asked to be kept apprised of the progress she made at the University of Iowa – a promise to which Jane cheerfully acquiesced. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the other young ladies did not request such correspondence and their felicitations were tinged with envy – she was sure to meet all sorts of promising potential husbands! Jane simply gave a noncommittal smile at such dreamy-eyed notions; although William had urged her to court the nice young fellows he was certain would look her way, her heart was too full to fathom developing romantic feelings for any other man in the foreseeable future.

While Jane's sendoff was rather bland, her welcome home more than made up for the lack of comradely affection; her aunt and uncle were so thrilled by this course of events that they warmly praised and petted their niece as they had never done before. Far be it for them to give her unwarranted airs, but they always knew she was meant for better things than languishing as a personal secretary in some second-rate backwater, and it was high time someone recognized her potential! Jane took her guardians' outpouring of compliments with a humble grace that pleased them even more – for she would never forget what had truly prompted this unexpected scholastic accolade. If it wasn't for William's glowing recommendation and extra efforts on her behalf, she was unlikely to have gotten into the University of Iowa at all.

But perhaps Jane was putting on airs, after all; each time she guiltily reflected on the blatant partiality that made it possible for her to receive this award, she also imagined she could hear William insisting that she certainly could have attained this honor on merit alone, and that she mustn't feel ashamed of her largesse because it was the least he could do to make up for putting both her livelihood and reputation in jeopardy. But Jane swiftly quelled this whimsy, sweetly assuring her Chimera-William that she never condemned him for his actions – he simply had the bad luck of falling in love with a woman he was not free to be with. And she had the equal misfortune of falling in love with him in return.

During the course of these "conversations," Jane often wondered if William likewise talked to his Chimera-Jane in his own mind. And whenever she caught sight of the now-battered copy of _Jane Eyre_ the professor had slipped in her satchel the day she resigned, she shivered as she recalled how the protagonist had overheard her beloved's voice shouting her name, despite them being several miles apart. But even if Jane did one day perceive William's spirit calling out for her to come to him, she could not hasten to his side, because this Mr. Rochester had a wife that was neither insane nor infirm. And Jane was not heartless enough to hope for him to suddenly become a widower – though romantic reunions with William haunted her dreams at night for quite some time afterward. But while their dream-embraces were fervent, affectionate and filled with many delightful kisses, not once did he touch his lips to her nose and then ear, as he promised he would.

XXX

However, one midsummer's night, almost a year after she'd left Professor Randall, Jane was lying in bed and just about to drift off to sleep when she felt a measured but unmistakable sinking downward of the mattress next to her thigh – clearly, someone had entered the room and was now sitting on her bed. Startled, Jane's eyes snapped open, and she beheld William looking down at her with a radiant smile.

Since her surroundings were so mundane and his appearance was so meticulous – she perceived with sharp clarity even the tiniest of details, like the creases of age around his mouth and eyes – Jane did not immediately realize she was dreaming. Yet because she was dreaming, she did not think to question William's presence in her bedroom, and simply regarded him with dazed delight. Even if Jane had been inclined to doubt this stunning vision before her, any qualms would have disappeared after what happened next: William bent over to give her a kiss on the tip of her nose, and then moved to brush his lips softly behind her ear.

Normally, he would have embraced her without preamble; he had always done so before. But after bestowing these blandishments, William sat up straight again and gazed intently – almost desperately – at Jane, as if he required her permission to do anything more.

"It's really you, isn't it?" she said wonderingly, feeling a deep sense of contentment sweep through her.

That brilliant grin lit up his face again – in fact, his whole body seemed faintly incandescent. "It is me," he confirmed, his voice thick with emotion.

Elated, Jane opened her arms to the man she loved. What followed next was a blur: all at once, William had joined her in bed and they were entwined in a cozy embrace. Though they had been fully clothed and she could not remember either of them disrobing, the only thing covering them now was the thin sheet they were lying beneath. But Jane was not inclined to closely examine how they arrived at their present circumstances; she was too busy reveling in the sensation of William's warm mouth tenderly covering hers, his ragged breath searing her ear as he whispered huskily to her in between kisses, his hands roaming feverishly over curves, and his hips pressing ardently against hers. As their pace quickened and their gasps turned to full-fledged moaning, Jane felt spasms of ecstasy in the pit of her stomach and a curious sense of oneness with William, and wondered if they were indeed making love. But while their souls seemed to be in perfect communion, the earthlier sense of a physical union was curiously absent; although Jane had obligingly parted her legs when she felt William's insistent hardness against her thigh, she could never be entirely sure that he entered her. Presumably, he must have, for he let out a loud groan and thrust even more intently forward once she had rolled beneath him. But despite the intensity of Jane's pleasure, the locus of it remained nebulous even as her hips rose frantically to meet William's and match the passion of his rhythm.

However, Jane was perfectly satisfied with their embrace just as it was. There was something so vivid and _real_ about this tryst that she still did not think to wonder whether or not she was dreaming. Even after they finally calmed into a sated stupor, she did not wake. Instead, she and William talked – seemingly for hours. Later, Jane could not recall any of what they said to one another – all she remembered was that he caressed her curls as they lay together – but she knew it was a wonderful conversation. And when their discussion came to a natural close, William kissed her and they moved together again. After they had finished making love a second time, Jane drifted off to sleep in her beloved's arms, breathing in the delicious scent of him: leather and pipe smoke and brandy.

When Jane finally awoke, her bed was empty and her maidenhood was still intact – though her hair was even more disheveled than usual and her nightclothes were dreadfully rumpled – but she fancied William's aroma lingered in the air. She would have thought such a vibrant hallucination would break her heart upon waking, but strangely, she did not experience the usual intense renewal of separation's agony. Instead, Jane felt the same profound peace she'd experienced during her dream-reunion with William, as if he was somehow present in a way he hadn't been before, and would henceforth be with her always.

Perhaps her premonition of an actual visitation was not so odd; that very afternoon, Jane received a terse telegram from Dr. Strange informing her that Professor Randall had passed away of cirrhosis a few days earlier. While she wept at the news, she was not stunned by it – though she did sadly wonder if the heartache of losing her had played a major role in hastening his death. Jane might have sunk into guilty despair at such thoughts – had it not been for her wonderful dream the night before. Because even if the William who came to her was merely another phantom of her feverish fancy, no gloomy suppositions could alter her firm conviction that his spirit was now happily at rest.

Jane briefly considered attending William's funeral, but decided not to in the end. Practically, she knew it wasn't a wise idea because she would be unable to repress the full depth of her sorrow, and it wasn't appropriate for her to grieve as intensely in public as would his widow and daughters; such hysterics coming from her would raise suspicious questions in people's minds as to the true nature of their relationship. Sentimentally, Jane did not relish the idea of looking upon William's cold and ashen corpse; she'd much rather remember him as the ardent and vigorous lover she'd said goodbye to in the laboratory – and later trysted with in her dreams.

So Jane sent a polite telegram expressing her condolences to Dr. Strange, and then prepared to return to the University of Iowa for her second year – thus ending her sojourn as Jane Eyre.

XXX

By the time Jane had finished telling Marian her story, the clock on the main wall read one thirty. But neither the librarian nor her assistant was cognizant of just how much time had passed, and remained thoroughly engrossed in their conversation.

"As embarrassing as it all was, it's a relief to finally be able tell someone what happened," Jane confessed with a blush. Her eyes met Marian's for the first time since beginning her tale, and she gazed beseechingly at the librarian. "I hope you won't think too horribly of my imprudence in letting my heart get the better of me and my resultant unbecoming conduct with Professor Randall. I was a wicked, wanton little fool… " Her eyes shining with fresh tears, she trailed off and bowed her head again.

Marian, who knew all about loving a man against one's better judgment, reached out and pulled her friend into a warm and sympathetic hug. "Dearest Jane… you're not as terrible a person as you think you are. On the contrary – you have tremendous moral fiber. Temptation itself isn't a sin, it's how one responds to such inducements that determines one's culpability. You mustn't admonish yourself for the pitfalls of your inexperience, you should commend yourself for having the strength of character to resign before things got out of hand. Both you and the professor showed admirable self-restraint, given the circumstances; your heart chose more wisely than you realize."

Jane did not shrink from the librarian's comforting embrace, but she miserably countered, "A wiser woman would have avoided falling in love with him in the first place."

Marian stifled a smile and gently smoothed a curl from her aggrieved assistant's cheek. "Lots of people fall in love where they know they shouldn't – love has the maddening tendency to knock even the most sensible people off balance." She paused for a moment to gather her thoughts, and couldn't help laughing a little as she continued, "When Harold Hill first came to town, he was the last man who would have made suitable husband material – a fly-by-night salesman and a womanizer, to boot! Yet my heart wanted him, all the same. It was infuriating!"

Jane lifted her head to goggle at Marian. "You mean, the same Professor Hill who can barely stand to let you walk on level ground unassisted, let alone spiral staircases? I've never seen a husband who was more devoted to his wife's comfort and well-being!"

Marian burst into full-fledged laughter. "Well, he wasn't always such a considerate family man. But falling in love changed him as profoundly as it changed me. Our path to connubial bliss wasn't an easy one, by any means, but one that he wanted badly enough to make serious changes in his ways of thinking."

"That must be quite the story," Jane marveled, still looking at the librarian with rapt astonishment.

"It is," Marian agreed as her hugely pregnant frame started to distract her with its usual aches and complaints. Letting go of her assistant, she placed a hand to her throbbing lower back. "Unfortunately, it's a story we're going to have to leave for another time. Suffice it to say, Harold fell as hopelessly in love with me as I did with him, and when his Think System proved feasible, after all, he decided to start a new life in River City. At first, our falling in love was both dangerous and inconvenient, as a happy ending to our romance seemed utterly implausible. But in the end, everything worked out more beautifully than we could ever have imagined. So one never knows what may happen when Cupid's arrow strikes – " The librarian's speech ended in a gasp as her and Harold's unborn child lashed out with a particularly energetic kick.

Jane placed a steadying arm around Marian's waist and guided her safely to the nearest bench before carefully responding, "Well, I'm not looking to be marked by Cupid in the near or even distant future. My dearest hope is to serve as River City's assistant librarian for a long time to come… and to be called a dear friend by the woman whose flawless poise and peerless grace I someday hope to emulate has brought me no greater joy than I could ever wish to receive."

Had Marian not been sitting, she would have hugged her assistant again. But the best she could manage was to reach out and clasp the young woman's now-trembling hands in an affectionate squeeze.

As they were both eminently practical ladies, the remainder of their conversation consisted chiefly of administrative matters that still needed discussing – including Marian's curtailed library schedule, a course of action of which Jane heartily approved. Yet despite this return to mundane topics, the young woman's eyes continued to gleam not with her usual wistfulness, but with a quiet contentment the librarian found both gratifying and relieving. Jane Edna Peabody had finally realized her place in the world, and Marian had at last found herself a loyal assistant she could trust implicitly. And in each other, they had both discovered a dear friend and confidante.

Once both her churning stomach and business pertaining to Madison Public Library was settled, the librarian stood up from her seat and cordially entreated, "I do hope you will be able to join us for supper later tonight, Jane."

"I'd be delighted, Miss Marian," Jane said with a blithe smile that was all the more lovely for its earnest happiness. Her irrepressible curls bounced jauntily around her as she escorted the librarian to the wide double doors. "And in the meantime, please give Professor Hill my regards when you see him."


	8. All's Well That Ends Bittersweet

"_Please give Professor Hill my regards when you see him."_

Jane Edna Peabody's blithe farewell kept repeating itself over and over in Marian's mind as she made her way home. Unlike earlier, when she set off for the library at a sedate pace as befitted a woman in her condition, she now walked much more briskly – though she took care not to overtax herself. However, while her keen eyes swept the ground ahead for potential injury-causing obstacles, the librarian carefully avoided meeting the gaze of any passerby, tilting her head just enough to take advantage of the natural blinders her wide-brimmed hat afforded. Perhaps it was silly of her, but after spending the past few hours listening to such a heart-wrenching tale, she felt the pressing need to get back to Harold, and did not wish to be delayed by social pleasantries.

It wasn't that Marian feared Jane's words betokened some ill omen. What bothered her was the sudden, disquieting realization that she hadn't fully appreciated just how much she'd come to depend on Harold always being there. When they were merely courting, and even after they had gotten engaged, there was a small part of her that still could not quite accept the music professor wasn't going to eventually tire of his new life and catch the next train out of town. However, in the months after they'd married, the librarian was relieved and elated to discover that Harold continued to fall even more in love with not only her, but also with the life they'd built together. From the moment Marian informed her bombastic music professor that he was going to be a father, something soft and sweet and wonderful permeated his broad smile and twinkled in his impish gaze. While the librarian had experienced an unwelcome resurgence of old anxieties as her condition progressed – her mother had reassured her it was normal for a woman to feel increased longing for her husband when she was with child, but she frankly admitted that not all men experienced the same ardor in return – Harold's earnest demonstrations of devotion and desire quelled any concerns she had of their developing an estrangement during her confinement.

But Marian had forgotten how capricious the whims of fortune could be. One minute, she and her husband were well and whole, breathlessly heading home to make passionate love – and the next, Harold was sprawled on the ground, prostrate with pain. Thankfully, his ankle was merely twisted and not broken, but the event was a sobering reminder that calamity could strike at any time. While Marian finally felt secure in the knowledge Harold would never choose to leave her, such a momentous decision might not always remain in his hands. And, as much as it frightened her to think of such awful possibilities, there was always the potential of her labor going disastrously awry. Harold, of course, was well aware of this prospective outcome to their hopes – the librarian had seen those ever-present glimmers of fear lurking beneath the delight in his gaze whenever he looked at her. Prayer now mingled with Jane's well wishes in Marian's mind as she appealed to the Almighty; she simply could _not_ leave her husband a widower. Harold would be disconsolate, taking this tragedy as final proof of the universe's cruelty and lapsing irrevocably back onto the path to perdition…

Before her contemplations could wander too far down this dismal road, the librarian rounded the corner to East Pine. She felt a sudden renewal of optimism upon seeing the charming Victorian – she was nearly home! At this welcome sight, her reservations vanished; no matter what happened, things would ultimately work out for the greater good, as they always had. Consigning her concerns to the will of Providence, Marian hastened into her house, removed her broad-brimmed hat and, with a rush of the same nervous delight she had felt when preparing for a stroll with Harold during their courting days, assessed her appearance in the hallway's full-length mirror. Whatever happened tomorrow, next week or in October, whatever joys they were blessed with and trials they must endure, she was going make sure that this afternoon, her husband fully understood just how much she loved and appreciated him.

Yet Marian entered the parlor quietly; she had noted Harold's deep, steady breathing as she smoothed the errant strands back into her chignon. And her suspicions as to his state of being were indeed correct: The music professor was fast asleep, propped in a sitting position on the sofa with his ankle resting on a pillow on the ottoman. He was reclined just as she had left him.

The librarian halted, arrested by the sight. For as much time as they spent in bed together, it wasn't often she witnessed her husband deep in the throes of actual slumber. Harold always seemed to fall asleep after her and wake up before she did, and sometimes she'd open her eyes late at night to find his spot empty. In the earliest days of her marriage, these disappearances caused Marian to grow uneasy – but she quickly learned to dismiss them as not worth losing an iota of sleep over. For not only did Harold always come back to bed in a trice, if he caught her awake (or, as soon became her sly little delight, in a repose that was obviously feigned), neither of them slumbered for quite some time afterward. As exhausted as these trysts left her the next day, Marian happily welcomed her husband's amorous moods whenever they happened to strike… even though her acceptance and encouragement of such behavior emboldened him enough to occasionally seduce her out of a genuine sleep.

In an unguarded moment, the librarian had wondered aloud in the presence of her family as to the fount of her music professor's prodigious energy, if not sleep; whereupon her mother made the wry observation that Harold's propensity for wakefulness would come in wonderfully handy for attending to their newborn's needs. Realizing she might have inadvertently revealed too much about their intimate affairs, Marian had blushed and changed the subject. But now, as she suddenly became conscious of just how weary she was, she reflected she would be truly grateful when her husband was back to his vigorous self. Relinquishing her gleeful designs of coaxing Harold awake with gentle kisses, the librarian sank into the nearby wingback chair her industrious assistant had kindly set up for her the night before.

But Marian still continued to gaze longingly at her husband, even as her eyelids grew heavy and started to close. Before she left for the library that morning, she had assisted Harold with his daily ablutions. While he was content to remain in his pajamas and robe, he'd insisted upon giving himself a shave and combing his hair into its usual impeccable wave, in addition to brushing his teeth and washing his face. At first, Marian had balked at these unnecessary vanities, but ultimately acquiesced to his request. And now that Jane was due to come over for dinner that evening – not to mention they were likely to get a parade of visitors and well-wishers stopping by over the next few days – she appreciated her husband's foresight.

And if truth be told, she quite enjoyed the picture before her. Harold looked both disheveled and put together; the charming incongruity of her carefully-coifed and smooth-cheeked husband wearing rumpled nightclothes and slumbering heavily was immensely endearing. In repose, the bombastic music professor presented a tableau of sweet, unruffled guilelessness that warmed Marian's heart and made her wish she could go right over and curl up next to him. Unfortunately, her girth and his injury did not lend themselves to a comfortable embrace on the parlor sofa, so the librarian contented herself with merely daydreaming that she and Harold were lying cozily in bed together. He really was a gorgeous man…

Lost in rumination, Marian must have drifted off to sleep, because the next thing she knew, the parlor clock was chiming four – a good two hours after she'd arrived home. Her eyes fluttered open, and when her vision cleared, she saw Harold looming over her, his face only inches away from hers. Yet she did not twitch in surprise; in her doze, she had continued to muse on her husband, so it seemed quite natural he would be standing in the line of her gaze when she awoke. But now he was the one watching her, and with an expression of avid intensity, as if he couldn't quite believe she was real. Seeing him look at her that way was better than any daydream.

When their eyes met, Harold smiled tenderly at her. Beaming beatifically at him in return, Marian cupped his cheeks in her hands and brought him to her for a kiss that was gentle, slow and deep.

"Well, good afternoon to you, too, my dear little librarian," he said happily when their lips parted.

"I missed you," she said softly, her voice still fogged with sleep. Her fingers trailed down his neck and curled around the lapels of his forest-green velour robe. Though it was getting a little faded from constant wear, it was the first dressing gown the librarian had ever seen her husband in, and it still made her just as weak in the knees.

Harold leaned in and nuzzled her nose with his. "Well, I see that _someone's_ in an affectionate mood today," he purred, his tone slightly teasing. "That must have been some nap!"

"It was wonderful," Marian said dreamily, not ready to dispel the romantic mood that was fast fading into something more playful. "You're wonderful." She tugged him back to her for another kiss.

At first, Harold seemed taken aback by her ardent response to his lighthearted flirtation, and hesitated to reciprocate. But when she clutched even tighter to his lapels and plaintively moaned his name, he was a man undone – his mouth passionately covered hers and his arms slipped around her waist to pull her even closer to him.

Initially, the librarian had wondered at her husband's reluctance; it wasn't like him to offer even a whisper of resistance when she initiated a heated tête-à-tête. But when her arms wound around Harold's neck so she could better press herself against him, she suddenly had her answer. For some inscrutable reason, he was only standing on one leg, and at the unexpected shift in their embrace, he stumbled and swayed dangerously. Fortunately, he managed to catch himself before he fell over – or on top of her.

Suddenly, Marian remembered her husband was injured, and shouldn't have been standing over her in the first place. "Harold!" she scolded once he had steadied himself. "What in heaven's name were you thinking, hovering over me? You should be keeping your ankle elevated!"

Harold burst into laughter. "Darling, my ankle _is_ elevated," he said with a gesture toward his left leg. Indeed, one knee was bent so his ankle could rest on the pillow-covered ottoman, requiring him to balance entirely on his right leg to remain upright. "And you can't fault me for what almost happened. I never meant for things to get so hot and heavy on the wingback chair, delightful as our little interlude was!"

Ignoring the sudden heat spreading across her cheeks, Marian raised a disapproving eyebrow at her husband. "Just how long have you been standing there like that?"

"Only about five minutes," he said breezily. "I woke up and saw you sleeping so beautifully that I couldn't resist moving in for a closer look." Now it was his turn to regard her with a critical expression. "Just how long have _you_ been sleeping all scrunched up in an uncomfortable chair, Madam Librarian? And how much time did you spend at the library today?"

Marian paused to think a moment. "I arrived at the library near noon, and it was around two o'clock when I reached home – and I fell asleep shortly thereafter. So two hours at the library, and two hours asleep on the chair." Her eyes widened as the tabulations sank in. "Goodness," she marveled, "the day certainly flew by!"

Harold still did not look pleased. "And what took you so long at the library, Madam Librarian?" he asked, waggling a finger at her. "I thought you were only going to drop by to give Miss Peabody your new schedule and maybe show her the archives! Was she not keeping things up to your standards again?"

Marian was in too good a mood to take offense; now it was her turn to burst into laughter. "Darling, I couldn't be happier with the job Jane is doing at Madison Public Library. Oh, I can't even tell you how pleased I am that she's my assistant librarian!"

Harold's severe expression softened as he smiled and raised an eyebrow at her. "Jane, eh? That _is_ a ringing endorsement – this morning, she was still Miss Peabody!"

Marian laughed again, and waved a dismissive hand at her husband's teasing. "Not only did Jane react with tact and grace when I showed her the archives, she came up with a simple but brilliant reorganization of the ancient history section that I never would have thought possible – and by merely shifting a single bookcase!" The librarian paused and gazed into her husband's eyes, her voice softening as she continued, "Harold – the aisle no longer ends in a wall."

Not only did the music professor's eyes widen, his mouth dropped open slightly. At first, he seemed to be at a loss for words – or was carefully considering a response he wasn't sure would be well-received – but then the preoccupation in his gaze cleared and he smiled. "Well, I'm glad that Miss Peabody has proven both capable and trustworthy to your satisfaction. But my dear little librarian," he said in his low, velvety voice, taking her hands in his, "I still don't exactly understand why you found it necessary to spend two whole hours at the library on what's supposed to be your day off. Surely you weren't admiring clever shelf arrangements or discussing library business the entire time!"

"I wasn't," Marian admitted, averting her gaze. Hesitant to reveal too much of her friend's prior history without express permission, she carefully explained, "Jane _did_ accept the existence of those archives with a surprising nonchalance for one so young. As it turns out, there's a good reason for that; a burden she's been carrying around for quite some time… " Realizing she was making Jane's past sound a bit _too_ ominous, the librarian hastily amended, "Her character remains irreproachable, of course, and she never went through anything so appalling as being accosted against her will. But she does have more glimmers of awareness about what it means to be passionately in love than most people would think proper for a maid… " She paused again. "Jane is a sweet girl who desperately needed a friend and confidante – someone who could listen and understand, without condemnation. I couldn't just leave her… "

"Ah – say no more." Harold sweetly kissed the tips of her fingers. "You know, I always thought Miss Peabody had the circumspection of a woman whose heart had been broken. But it's not my intention to pry, darling – I just wanted to make sure you weren't overworking yourself again."

"I understand," Marian acknowledged with a sheepish smile. "And you can rest easy in the certainty that Jane is just as concerned for my well-being as you are, so I have another set of eyes keenly watching out for me. And before I forget – she sends her regards, and is looking forward to joining us for dinner tonight." When the librarian raised her head to meet her husband's gaze again, she was alarmed to see that pensiveness had crept back into his expression. "What is it, Harold? I assure you, I've been taking good care of my health today!"

He shook his head. "It's not that, Marian. It's just… " His eyes twinkled with bemused mirth and he started to chuckle. "It's just – I never expected to be beaten to the punch in a scheme. And by Miss Peabody, of all people!"

"What in heaven's name are you talking about?" Marian asked, mystified.

Harold pulled her out of the chair to stand with him, somehow managing to accomplish this feat with his usual graceful aplomb, despite his bad ankle. She started to protest – he'd been hovering upright for far too long as it was – but he gently shushed her by placing a finger on her lips.

"Please, Marian, hear me out," he entreated, "and then I promise I'll go back to the couch. I had my own plans regarding the ancient history section. Some quiet afternoon, when we were the only ones in the library, I was going to have you come to the aisle with me. Then we would stand in the same place Ed Griner accosted you. I was going to wrap my arms around your waist, and bathe your face with gentle kisses" – he demonstrated, kissing her forehead, cheeks, nose and lips – "and whisper sweet words to you" – his lips brushed her ear – "and I was going to tell you that even if he had succeeded in kissing you, there was nothing he could do to make you his… no matter how much he tried to take from you."

Marian nodded – though she let out a shaky breath before speaking. "Shortly after the event occurred, I arrived to similar conclusions. No matter how determined Ed Griner or any other man might have been to encroach upon my body, he could never possess my soul. Armed with that certainty, I felt I could bear anything that might happen to me… " She trailed off and shuddered, not wanting to think of it. "But thank heavens nothing so horrible happened!"

Harold tightened his arms protectively around her, and she buried her head in his shoulder. For a moment there was only silence as Marian sought comfort in her husband's embrace, and then he continued detailing his plan:

"Marian… if there was anything else you needed or wanted from me after that, anything at all… " – his mouth found a particularly sensitive spot on her neck, and she let out a soft cry and tilted her head to give him better access – "all you'd have to do is say the word. I'd do whatever it took to exorcise those bad memories, so that whenever you had to reshelve books in that section, your thoughts would be of how much your husband loves you, and how he'd do anything to keep you safe and happy."

"Oh, Harold!" the librarian gasped, hugging him as tight as she could with her stomach between them. "Were you really planning to do all that? When?"

He smiled impishly. "I would have done it already, but I didn't think of the idea until a few weeks ago. And with your condition to consider, I couldn't risk my plan, as well-intentioned as it was, backfiring and making things worse. So I've been hesitating because I wasn't sure how you'd take it."

Marian kissed him. "It would have meant the world to me."

Harold continued smiling, even as his lips covered hers for yet another kiss, and he relaxed in her arms as she relaxed in his. However, they once again they forgot about the music professor's sprained ankle in the midst of their passion, and as they pressed even closer to one another, Harold winced and let out a small yelp.

"Harold!" the librarian gasped, trying to steady her husband as best as she could.

He smiled weakly. "Probably wasn't a good idea to put my weight on it, just now."

Her eyes narrowed. "Indeed – you should be resting."

Without protest, Harold allowed his wife to help him to the sofa. However, once he was seated with his ankle propped up properly on the ottoman, he grinned and tugged the librarian to sit next to him – which almost caused another catastrophe as Marian was caught off-balance and landed on the sofa much harder than she ought to have. Harold immediately made profuse apologies, but the librarian was unhurt and simply laughed at her clumsiness as she struggled to nestle against her husband. Once they were safely settled in each other's arms, Marian offered her lips to Harold – which he claimed with his usual amorous gusto. However, while their kiss was ardent, they were too mindful of each other's fragile state to embrace each other with the same intensity.

When their mouths finally parted, Marian gazed at her husband with a warm smile. "Harold… Ed Griner will never come near me again. Although he did still occasionally drop by the library to stare at me, he never approached me after that afternoon. When _you_ accosted me in the library with your marshmallows and declarations of love, he stopped coming to the library entirely. And ever since the night we danced the Shipoopi together on Madison Park Pavilion and the whole town buzzed about us being together, he hasn't so much as looked at me on the rare occasions our paths cross in public."

"Good," Harold said staunchly, tightening his arms around her. "Because if he comes within twenty feet of you without having a damn good reason to do so, I'll personally make sure he regrets it."

Even knowing her husband's fiercely protective nature when it came to those he loved, Marian still found his vehemence surprising. As she regarded her husband's perturbed expression, she wondered if perhaps he was the one who needed to banish those terrible memories. Cupping her husband's cheek with her hand, as he had done so many times when he wished to comfort her, Marian said softly, "Even if Jane has rearranged the shelves, what's stopping you from carrying out this scheme of yours?"

He gazed at her, awed. "You mean you'd still want me to… "

She beamed at him. "I would _love_ you to, Harold."

"When?"

Her smile grew sly. "Surprise me, darling."

Harold grinned, and Marian was delighted to see the return of his usual mischievous cheer. "I look forward to it, my dear little librarian." His mouth claimed hers again, and husband and wife were silent for a little while. But then Harold parted his lips from Marian's and said pensively, "Well… considering that you have a new assistant who's still settling in, perhaps I'll stick to my original plan of waiting until after our child is born." He put a possessive hand on her stomach. "Our _first_ child, that is. I want to make a family with you, Marian."

Once during their honeymoon, when they lay in each other's arms after a long afternoon of lovemaking, Harold had confessed that one of the best things about being married to her was that he could finally tell her the true depth of his feelings and desires… and everything else he'd had to hold back during their courtship. Though he never said it was the case, Marian surmised he admitted this partly out of concern that he'd overwhelmed her with the volley of heated words that came tumbling out of his mouth as they writhed in each other's arms. So as much as it made her blush to do so, Marian reminded her husband that she'd been just as vocal in her declarations that afternoon – and further assured him she felt exactly the same. For it _was_ wonderfully freeing to be able to love Harold wholly and without restraint – especially after the uncertainty she'd endured during their passionate but rather tumultuous courtship.

But as Marian smiled and began to whisper similar sentiments into her husband's ear, their unborn child lashed out with a sturdy kick, taking the breath out of her. "Well, _someone_ seems to have a decided opinion on the subject of siblings!" she teased when she recovered her powers of speech.

Harold chuckled and patted the librarian's stomach as their baby continued to thrash about. "Yes, we'll have to get you some brothers and sisters… but all in good time," he said affectionately. "After all, we certainly had fun making _you_, didn't we?"

"Oh, Harold!" the mother-to-be admonished, giggling like a maid instead of the well-pleased wife they both knew she was.

As ever, Harold responded to her chiding with an unrepentant laugh and, when the baby finally ceased squirming, a pleasant silence settled between husband and wife. It warmed Marian's heart to see how gleefully he looked forward to their growing family – she couldn't wait to see him with their little one cuddled sweetly in his arms. And whenever she watched Harold spending time with Winthrop, or talking with Tommy and Zaneeta, or leading the boys in his band, her heart swelled with love and pride. He was going to be a wonderful father.

The librarian's thoughts then turned to rumination of their baby's sex: Would it be a boy, or a girl? As she and Harold had settled on two children as their ideal number, Marian secretly hoped for one of each; order of arrival didn't matter one whit to her. While she and her husband occasionally made lighthearted guesses regarding this new addition to their family, Harold had never indicated a preference for their firstborn… or any subsequent children Providence might bless them with in the future. And Marian had never deemed it necessary to ask his opinion, as she was certain her husband would joyfully welcome whatever children came along – even if Marian gave him a surfeit of one sex and none of the other.

"Darling, you look a bit pale," Harold observed with concern, interrupting her reverie.

"Do I?" Marian asked curiously. Mentally assessing her well-being, she determined that she _was_ feeling rather fatigued, and her feet were starting to throb unpleasantly. Perhaps it was time to change into something more comfortable or, at the very least, take off these infernal shoes!

As usual, Harold was two steps ahead of her. Grabbing a nearby pillow and placing it on his lap, he suggested, "Why don't you scoot down to the other end of the sofa, lie back, and put your feet up for a little while?"

"If I do that, neither of us will be able to get up," the librarian warned with a laugh. But the idea was so alluring that when her husband grinned persuasively and reached toward her legs, she took him right up on his offer. With a triumphant smirk, Harold nimbly removed her boots and cupped her poor, aching feet in his capable hands. Lying on her back, Marian felt like swollen dough being kneaded on a countertop. She would have giggled at the sight she must have presented, had she not been so enthralled by her husband's attentions. Soon, Harold's caresses had her softly moaning in pleasure, heedless of her ungainly roundness or anything else but the movements of his clever thumbs as they pressed into the soles of her weary feet.

"Feels wonderful, doesn't it?" Harold said in his low, velvety voice – which contained more than a hint of well-pleased self-satisfaction in it.

"Mmm," Marian agreed, regarding him with half-closed eyes. The librarian's first inclination was to take that charming ego down a peg, but remembering she wanted to demonstrate her love and appreciation, she said with real feeling, "Every pregnant woman should have a husband just like you."

"Should they, now?" Harold asked with a chuckle. Apparently, earnest praise worked just as well as a cutting retort – his tone was far less smug, and even slightly surprised. However, his hands remained confident as ever; moving to her thighs, they unfastened her garters.

"Yes… " she moaned as his hands roamed avidly back down her legs. Despite the heat of the afternoon, Harold's fingers left a trail of goose bumps along her calves as he rolled down her stockings. Overcome by the loveliness of this sensation, which only fueled the desire that continued to burn steadily within her despite the damper the previous evening's fiasco had put on conjugal delights for the time being, Marian confessed in a rush of longing, "Oh, Harold… how I wish we could make love this afternoon!"

"Do you, darling? I thought we were," her husband replied, a serious note entering his tone. Having resumed massaging her feet, his thumbs pressed even more determinedly into her soles, and Marian could only cry out in wordless delight.

Sounding just as aroused, Harold observed, "Seems to me that we're managing just fine in the lovemaking department, my dear little librarian."

Marian's eyes fluttered open and she met her husband's gaze. Harold's eyes were riveted to her form and he did indeed have _that_ look on his face – that sweet, fierce, possessive look he always gave her when they were in the midst of making love.

As much as it thrilled her to see such expressions on her husband's countenance, lying back at her ease while being pleasured was not how she'd envisioned demonstrating how much she loved and appreciated him. "Be that as it may… what about _you_?" she protested. "How am I to reciprocate, in my present position?"

"Don't you worry about that, just now – I'm plenty satisfied with everything you've already given me," Harold assured her with grave earnestness. But playfulness was never far behind with the music professor, and his eyes twinkled as he added, "Despite the obstacles fortune has been throwing at us whenever we've attempted to make love in the traditional manner, we're still managing to learn quite a few delightful things about each other – " He trailed off and pressed his thumbs against the soles of her feet again, which made her shiver and moan in delight as a renewed surge of pleasure coursed through her body.

But even as her eyes closed and her head lolled back again, Marian continued to protest. "But it doesn't seem fair… You've been doing the lion's share of loving me during these past few months, even when I've been in the most wretched of moods, forgetting just how lucky I was to be your wife, how lucky we were to end up married instead of having to part ways forever. If I still didn't know it last night, my conversation with Jane this afternoon reminded me just how fortunate I am to have you as my husband." She opened her eyes and reached out to touch him, even though it was a futile gesture in her present position. "So it's time I started making things square – especially when it comes to lovemaking."

Harold's fingers halted and his eyes now gleamed with emotion instead of mischief. At first, he seemed at a loss for words, but then, taking a deep breath, he began, "Marian… if there's anything I learned from my years as a libertine, it's that love – _real_ love – is not always perfectly square. So when lovemaking has to be perfectly square, tit for tat, it's no longer lovemaking. It's a business transaction – even if money isn't the commodity being traded." He reached out and took her hand in his. "You've already been loving me generously enough with your glances, words and kisses this afternoon – if anything, I've got plenty to repay you. All I want right now is to hear more of your delicious moans as I soothe your feet and whatever else of you I can reach from here." He paused and gave her a crooked, nervous smile. "And to be perfectly honest, that's all the excitement my body is capable of handling at the moment. If we attempt anything more ambitious, I'm highly likely to undo the progress of my ankle's recovery – as we keep finding out whenever we embrace today!"

Touched by her husband's unvarnished admission of both his physical vulnerability and his checkered past, Marian was herself rendered speechless with emotion and grappling to find something heartfelt to say in return. Deciding that actions would be far more poignant than any pretty speeches she could make in response to his candor, she simply nodded her consent for Harold to pleasure her to his heart's content. And when his hand let go of hers to caress her inner thigh, she closed her eyes and resumed sighing in delight.

"Oh, Marian," Harold said, letting out a long sigh that was laced with arousal and delight, "you're reciprocating just _beautifully_."

He bent to kiss her calves as his hands returned to her feet. Soon his clever mouth had also meandered its way downward to press heated little kisses against the tips of her toes as his fingers continued to stroke her soles. This wasn't something he'd ever done even remotely sensuously – Harold had playfully nibbled on her toes to get a giggle out of her once or twice in the past – and it wasn't something the librarian expected she would have enjoyed. But as her husband's lips gently skimmed the tips of her toes, his tickling breath and feather-light kisses a delightful contrast to the vigorous massaging of his hands, Marian felt a jolt of pure pleasure in the pit of her stomach as she writhed blissfully in response to his deft ministrations. How was it that no matter where and how Harold touched her, the results were excruciatingly erotic?

After a long and lovely interval of ardent caressing, the music professor began to slow things down, lifting his lips from her feet and gradually easing the movements of his fingers until Marian's breathing steadied and deepened, returning to its normal pace. A wonderful, almost post-coital, sense of relaxation settled in as he came to a full stop, and when Harold bestowed one final kiss on the tips of her toes before raising his head, the librarian opened her eyes and beamed at her husband.

Harold smiled contentedly at her in return. "Oh Marian," he sighed, his warm hands tugging her skirt back into its proper place and smoothing the muslin fabric over her legs, "when we can make love to the fullest again without worrying about your health or my fitness, it will be even better than it was before… "


	9. One More Tryst

During his convalescence, Harold had developed an entirely new appreciation for the difficulty Marian experienced with the notion of slowing down. It was immensely frustrating to lie around when he wanted to be up and about and accomplishing things. As it turned out, neither of them was inclined to indulge in leisure for too long – even if it was enforced, courtesy of doctor's orders.

But here it was only one week later, and Dr. Pyne had declared Harold's ankle fully healed. The good doctor had dropped by while Marian was eating lunch at her mother's, and the music professor cheerfully demonstrated his recovery by taking several sedate but confident laps around the parlor. However, upon the librarian's return home, Harold decided to save his happy news for a better time – his wife greeted him with a pale complexion, wan smile and tired eyes. After giving her husband a perfunctory kiss on the forehead, she took herself upstairs for a long afternoon nap.

By the time the supper hour rolled around, Marian descended the stairs with a vibrant smile and perked-up gaze. The roses in her cheeks were also enchanting, and Harold promptly informed her of this observation. Unsurprisingly, the librarian let out a skeptical laugh and went into the kitchen to procure the latest leftovers for their meal. For a moment, the music professor was torn between wanting to commandeer the supper preparations from his heavily-pregnant wife and wanting to save the surprise of his recovery for a more opportune occasion – but the latter inclination eventually won out. So although Harold was itching to insist that he would at least handle the cleanup, he remained on the sofa and played the invalid for the time being.

It wasn't until Marian excused herself to change into nightclothes that the music professor finally put his plan into action. As soon as the sounds from above indicated that his dear wife was safely ensconced in their bedroom, Harold rose from the parlor sofa. Relieved to be fully mobile once more, he bounded up the stairs both quietly and quickly – although he made sure to take them one by one, instead of his usual two or three at a time. For the bombastic music professor, taking even this most minor of precautions was excruciating, but he wasn't about to reinjure himself in his haste to pick things up where they had left off at the footbridge last week. His ankle, while fully healed, was still getting used to being back in the swing of things after its brief but incapacitating period of disuse.

It was probably for the best, this constant reminder that he needed to take things a lot slower than his carnal inclinations demanded. While Harold was once more the picture of health, his dear little librarian was still plagued with the complaints of her condition; although she was working a far less rigorous schedule, she remained prone to aches and exhaustion and, as a result, spent most of her newly freed-up afternoons slumbering in their bed. As eager as he was to show his wife just how much he had missed her during this past week, Harold was well aware there were decent odds that Marian wouldn't be in as amorous a mood as he currently was – and there was also the ever-increasing likelihood that she wouldn't welcome such ardent attentions again until after their child was born. That tumultuous night last week might have been his last chance to make love to the librarian before the baby arrived – another reason to kick himself for his misstep. _Metaphorically_, Harold reassured his ankle, which twinged in protest at such a painful notion.

Bringing himself to a halt at the threshold of their bedroom door, Harold paused to assess the situation. What he saw almost sent his already-racing pulse into overdrive. Marian was not fully dressed, but she wasn't quite ready for bed, either – clad in a camisole and drawers, with one stocking rolled halfway down and the other still neatly held in place by a garter, she was somewhere delightfully in between day dress and nightclothes.

Once he managed to quell his baser urges – for the moment, anyway – Harold carefully checked his wife for signs of weariness or discomfort. Thankfully, Marian seemed cheerful and even energetic, moving with relaxed ease as she finished removing her stockings – and, true to form, she placed them neatly in the laundry basket. Charmed by the sight of Marian going about her evening ablutions in complete ignorance of his presence, the music professor remained where he was, and simply watched.

However, even though Harold firmly ignored the inner voice urging him to boldly stride into the room and ravish his disheveled wife without preamble, he didn't have the self-restraint to just stand there and merely savor the vision before him for too much longer. He'd always appreciated Marian's curves, and pregnancy had made them even more alluring – while his wife might have lamented the loss of her hourglass figure, her rounded stomach and fuller breasts drove him absolutely wild. So when Harold saw the librarian pause and gaze wistfully in the vanity mirror after unpinning her hair, he immediately put a halt to his loitering in the shadows.

"None of that, now," he chided affectionately, bounding into the bedroom and wrapping his arms around Marian's waist. Burying his face in the honey-gold locks cascading down her shoulders, he nuzzled her neck. "You're just as gorgeous as you were when I first laid eyes on you."

"Mmm… I wasn't thinking about my figure," she said dreamily, clearly lost in contemplation. "I was thinking of how lonely our bed is going to be tonight, without you lying next to me."

Chuckling at this patently ridiculous notion, Harold brushed a few strands of his wife's blonde curls aside with gentle fingers. His mouth, upon discovering the smoothness of her neck, was not so gentle.

At first, Marian moaned and tilted toward her husband to give him better access – and then her eyes widened and her head bolted upright. "Harold!" she gasped. "What are you doing up here?"

Harold let out another chuckle as his hands wandered over her stomach – the baby stirred a little, as if sensing his touch – and migrated downward to settle lightly on her hips. "I would've thought you'd have cottoned onto my recovery by now, my dear little librarian. Surely, the fact that I'm standing upright and holding you without wincing in pain is more than enough evidence – "

Harold never got to finish his sentence; with a swiftness that astonished even him, Marian turned in his arms and brazenly stopped his mouth with hers. While he'd hoped his wife would be at least a little receptive to his overtures – he was even prepared to settle for their tender kiss-and-caress routine – her intensely passionate reaction completely surpassed his expectations, so much so that he could only goggle at her when they finally parted for air.

"Marian – I – you – " he gasped, both elated and flabbergasted.

Letting out that deliciously throaty laugh of hers, the librarian pulled him back to her and resumed their kiss with unreserved gusto. Realizing the futility of words, Harold's instincts took the lead. As Marian's hands raked through his hair and she moaned into his mouth, his hands feverishly roamed her curves – divesting her of her camisole and drawers in the process.

Fortunately, Harold wasn't fully dressed, either. Refusing to spend his entire convalescence in pajamas, the music professor had made it a point to don a fresh union suit, trousers and dress shirt each morning. He also wore socks at his wife's insistence, although he felt rather silly in them as she refused to allow him garters and shoes as well. Making additional concessions to comfort, Harold had also agreed to forgo a belt, tie and suit-coat as he reclined on the sofa.

So he didn't anticipate it would be too much trouble to remove his own clothing – especially as Marian had already taken it upon herself to aid him in this endeavor. As Harold swiftly unlaced his wife's camisole and tugged down her drawers, she just as skillfully unbuttoned his dress shirt with her nimble fingers; the garment was now lying on their bedroom floor in a crumpled heap, along with her own clothing. Although the fastidious librarian usually retained just enough of her self-possession to drape their apparel neatly over a chair, such was her haste this evening that she didn't even give the abandoned articles a second glance. Instead, she immediately moved to unfasten her husband's trousers and, once those fell to the floor, she began to make just as quick work of his union suit. Harold would have teased his wife for this shameless lapse – but almost before he knew it, he was as naked as she was and her warm hand had closed around his hardness, and he could only groan as all rational thought collapsed at her gentle but insistent caresses.

Marian had never been so bold in taking the lead before. Not that balmy night in May when she first seduced him outright, not even that snowy night in January when they reconciled – several times – after hashing things out over the social embarrassment he'd inadvertently caused her over scattered hairpins in the parlor. Never a man to look a gift horse in the mouth, Harold was more than pleased to abandon thought and reciprocate his wife's affections in kind; one hand grasped the small of her back, and the other slid beneath the curve of her stomach and kept exploring downward until it discovered silky wetness at last. However, Harold soon recovered enough of his mental faculties to realize that, although Marian was sighing and writhing against him just as eagerly as he was pressing into her ministrations, her gasps were imbued with a definite tinge of frustration.

Harold's busy hand stilled and his lips, which had been engaged somewhere in the vicinity of the librarian's ample décolletage, found their way to her ear. "Darling, darling," he said soothingly. "What's the matter?"

"This – darn – stomach – " she gasped.

Letting out the relieved breath he hadn't even realized he was holding, Harold grinned and kissed her temple. "Oh, is that all?" Although the baby hadn't so much as fluttered once things started to heat up between husband and wife, he understood Marian's meaning perfectly. Turning his wife around, Harold wrapped his arms around her waist and brought the length of his body flush against hers. As he nuzzled her neck and pressed his hips against her backside, Marian sighed happily and nestled against him. Groaning at the pleasant friction this produced against his nether regions, Harold tightened his grip and brought the librarian to rock back and forth with him.

So far tonight she'd managed to outpace him admirably – which was really saying something, considering the magnitude of his own desire – but true to form, he was catching up quickly. However, although the music professor was more than ready to get this show started in earnest, the quandary he'd been struggling with since the first time he ever knelt to bestow a kiss on his wife's pregnant stomach persisted in the back of his mind: _God forbid I hurt her or the baby…_

Harold's lips found the librarian's ear again. "How do you want me to make love to you, Marian?" he asked, a note of anguish entering his low, heated voice.

"It doesn't matter," she breathlessly assured him, impatience entering her gasps once more. "Just as long as I can be close to you… "

Harold had just the thing. Taking Marian by the hand and leading her to their bed, he helped her lie down on her side. Once she was resting comfortably, he climbed into bed behind her, fitting his body to hers until they were spooning together. As when they were standing, Marian melted into his embrace, moaning and writhing against him, parting her legs to grant him better access as he thrust his hips against her backside in a silent but heated display of just how intense his arousal was – lest she have any lingering doubts about her allure. Realizing this would probably be the last time they made love before Marian gave birth, Harold meant to take things a little bit slower – even as his erection was pressing feverishly against her entrance and he was groaning into her ear how badly he wanted her right now, how badly he'd wanted her all last week, how badly he'd always wanted her. But the feel of his wife, so warm and wanting and wet, obliterated the remaining shreds of his self-control; as soon as they achieved just the right angle, Harold slid right into her.

Home at last, he let out a gasp of pure pleasure – as did Marian. And then they were moving together with passion and rhythm, Harold listening carefully to the tenor of his wife's gasps as he made love to her.

It was not a position he attempted often; only a handful of times in their marriage had he seduced his dear little librarian into it. Though Marian had never protested when they engaged in what he teasingly termed, "lazy Saturday morning delights," Harold rarely initiated such trysts, as he intuitively knew his wife was not as fond of lovemaking that didn't allow them to look into each other's eyes. Likewise, he was not too keen on being unable to witness the intense joy their coupling brought to Marian's beautiful face, a sight that fueled a not-insignificant part of his own pleasure. He loved to watch the way his wife's kissable crimson lips parted to form a small _o_ as she moaned in time to his thrusts, and the way her eyes rolled heavenward before fluttering shut whenever ecstasy built to a fever pitch and made her tremble even as she continued to writhe furiously against him. Often, Harold covered Marian's lips in a heated kiss as she rode out the waves of her euphoria, and when her breathing slowed and he finally lifted his head again, her eyes would be wide open, looking deep into his – and then it was Harold's turn to tremble and groan and close his eyes as his body rushed headlong into release.

Such intimacy wasn't something the former charlatan had ever really shared with previous lovers; he only gazed at a woman's face long enough to ensure she was enjoying what he was giving her. Locking eyes like that was much too dangerous, akin to staring at the sun too long – a man could quickly fall in love that way, blinded by the fires of physical passion. But as Harold was already head over heels for Marian from the start of their conjugal relations, he had always sought to meet her gaze, delighting in the raw thrill her devoted, penetrating look sent through him. At times like these, when they were so intimately entwined, Harold always remembered the breathless rush he experienced the first time he stood face to face with Marian on her front porch that warm July evening, and how captivated he'd been and still was by the tantalizing closeness of _her_.

While making love to his wife from behind did add an exciting sense of novelty to their intimacy, Harold couldn't take as much pleasure in this act as he normally would have done. He didn't care for not being able to read his wife's expressions at such a crucial juncture, when he needed to make absolute sure they weren't getting carried away by passion at the expense of their unborn child's comfort. However, as her stomach had grown, they needed to adjust their lovemaking to accommodate for her increased girth – and he certainly wasn't complaining about their circumstances at present. Being able to make love to Marian like this was heaven; he wanted her so badly that any position they could manage at this point suited him just fine. And while Harold could only see the curve of her cheek through the mass of disheveled honey-blonde curls clouding his vision, he did have several reassuring clues as to Marian's true state of mind: While he was rather careful, she moved with rapt abandon, and while he held her gently, her nails scored his shoulder as she reached back to grasp at him. And most tellingly, there was only sheer delight in her sighs as they writhed together.

Yet Harold had to ask. "Is this what you had in mind, darling?" he panted into her ear.

"It's _perfect_," she gasped. "Please, Harold, for heaven's sake stop _thinking_ so much… I'm not going to break… "

Harold couldn't help grinning at her vehemence; his dear little librarian could get awfully domineering when in the throes of ecstasy. Letting the last of his reticence fade, he tightened his arms around Marian, lowered his lips to her neck and lost himself completely in the symphony of them. As they built passionately and steadily to a final crescendo, the music professor's rational mind remained blissfully occupied elsewhere until denouement had descended and husband and wife lay in sated silence.

When Marian finally turned to look at Harold, her face flushed with afterglow's invigoration, he chuckled at his concern. Since when was he such a nervous Nellie, prone to second-guessing his every move? Even when he had irrefutable evidence that his actions were doing no harm – indeed, they had obviously brought his wife wonderful pleasure! But then his ruminations were interrupted by an abrupt fluttering and, as Harold ran his hands in soothing strokes over the roundness of his wife's belly while their unborn child kicked and wiggled about, he remembered exactly why he'd gotten into such a tizzy of apprehension about making love to Marian in the first place.

_How's the baby? How are you?_ Harold desperately wanted to ask. But he refrained, settling for staring intently into his wife's eyes, which were still gleaming in rapture, despite this fresh disturbance to her physiology. When their little one finally settled down again and he was satisfied that Marian was resting comfortably, Harold captured her still-panting mouth in a long, searing kiss to make up for the lack of such blandishments during their lovemaking. His hands continued to roam her curves, gently at first, and then more avidly as her breathing quickened. Wanting to see the pleasure his caresses were causing, Harold lifted his head to look at his wife. Indeed, as soon as he broke their kiss, Marian's mouth parted in that little _o_ he loved to see, and she let out the most delicious moan. This, coupled with her tightly-closed eyes and artfully-tilted head, made her the veritable picture of a woman in sensual bliss. Harold's body tightened with renewed desire at the sight, and he groaned and buried his head to luxuriate in the creamy skin of his wife's exposed neck.

But despite his ever-present carnal inclinations urging him onward, he was firmly resolved nothing so heated would happen again tonight – or any night his wife remained in her present condition. Earlier this afternoon, Dr. Pyne had disclosed to Harold that while he was pleased Marian's constitution remained robust as ever, her having to work a curtailed schedule at the library when she was barely eight months along indicated that she would likely need to be put on full bed rest for the final month of her pregnancy. The good doctor also discreetly hinted that to ensure his wife's comfort and well-being, the music professor might want to consider making separate sleeping arrangements in the near future.

So tonight was it for them. And surprisingly, Harold's body did not protest so mutinously at this noble assertion of conscience as he would have expected. Perhaps it was because in addition to pleasure, he now heard fatigue in Marian's gasps – as well as his own. They were both tired. Still, she remained hot for him and he for her; his mouth met hers again and he continued to run his hands lightly over her naked body, wanting to keep those flames kindled for just a little while longer before slumber overtook them both.

Even when Marian turned her back to Harold so they could spoon again, he did not feel overcome by temptation to embark on yet another tryst. Instead, he simply buried his head in his wife's honey-blonde curls and pressed soft kisses into the nape of her neck, contenting himself with recollections of their honeymoon and those first, heady months of marriage. He had made love to Marian often and repeatedly at night – more days than not, they had both walked around in happy exhaustion. While tonight had taken the edge off his longing, Harold continued to look forward to the return of their previous connubial bliss. Of course, it would behoove them to start taking certain precautions – something he hadn't yet discussed with the librarian. Yet he was certain Marian would see the prudence of this course of action; if they were entirely unrestrained in their lovemaking, she would be in a condition as continually as an Irish Catholic wife. While Harold yearned to build a family with her, he wanted to space out their bundles of joy at least a few years apart. And he was well aware that even when Marian was in between pregnancies, their passion could not always be so unbridled, what with a baby in the house. But this didn't bother Harold; no matter how clandestine they had to be in their couplings, he would be grateful for the absence of that awful, nagging feeling he might inadvertently injure his dear little librarian with rough handling…

_Please don't let this be the last time we ever do this_, he thought, his heart tightening as apprehension swelled up once more. Perhaps it was not quite a proper prayer, but for a former scoundrel, scofflaw, swindler and philanderer, it was the best he could manage. _I know all this is so much more than I truly deserve. But please don't take her away from me…_

Marian stirred in his arms. "Harold?" she asked pensively, her voice fogged with sleep. He started – had he whispered his words aloud without knowing it? He hadn't meant to disturb his wife's repose with his unwarranted broodings. Irritated with himself for dwelling on what he might potentially lose instead of celebrating everything he stood to gain, Harold steeled himself for an awkward conversation and sweetly replied:

"Yes, darling?"

"Have you been hoping for a boy or a girl, in particular?"

Harold smiled in sheer relief. That was a tremendously easy question to answer; perhaps Providence saw fit to take pity on him, after all. "Marian, I want whatever child the Good Lord sees fit to bless us with."

In truth, Harold hadn't given the matter much thought, as the main thing he hoped for was for Marian to come through labor all right and for their baby to be born healthy. Anything after that would be perfect, whether he was given a son to carry on the family business or a daughter to bring him joy in his old age. He'd also been too preoccupied with adjusting to the idea of becoming a father to get hung up on such preferences. Harold had always liked and gotten along well with children, but the prospect of siring his own made him feel a queer mixture of anticipation, elation and terror. While he and his dear little librarian were deeply in love, as well as emotionally and even at times physically reliant on one another, Marian retained her charming spark of independence – as did he. But now, for the first time in his life, Harold would be responsible for a tiny, innocent bundle that was entirely dependent on him for survival and, while he relished the challenge of providing for a growing family, he also dreaded the prospect of failure more than he ever had in his existence.

There it was again. Why couldn't he stop worrying about anything and everything that might go wrong? He was Harold Gregory Hill. He'd never failed at anything in his life! At least, not anything serious. Not anything he couldn't eventually recover from. Although he struggled with the notion of a deity, he'd always possessed a strong faith in his ability to endure whatever life threw at him. And it would do him no good to keep dwelling on darkness. As Marian had admonished earlier, it was time to stop thinking about all the potential pitfalls, and start enjoying what they had to look forward to, both in October and in the years to come.

"So… my dear little librarian," Harold said with a grin, "does your mother have a preference for her first grandchild?"

Marian let out a throaty laugh. "I think Mama's hopes revolve around the _quantity_ of grandchildren she is blessed with, more than anything else. But she did say we're sure to have a boy for our firstborn, because I'm carrying 'low and all out front,' instead of 'high and proud.' She swears she successfully predicted that I would be a girl and Winthrop would be a boy – based entirely on the slightly differing positions she carried us during her pregnancies!"

"So she's confident we're going to be having a son, is she?" Harold observed with a chuckle. "Far be it from me to dismiss your mother's supposition, especially as she did carry both a boy and a girl to term, but did she take into account your intense cravings for strawberry phosphates? Folk wisdom also says that when a mother-to-be wants so much sugar, she'll give birth to a daughter."

His hand, as ever, was resting protectively on her curved stomach. Marian's fingers found his and gave them a little squeeze. "Well… whether or not we have a boy or a girl, we still haven't discussed names for the baby, have we?"

Harold did not answer immediately; it was another matter he hadn't spent any time pondering in depth. He refused to saddle his offspring with the lofty burden of living up to a tailor-made name – or worse, a stuffy old family legacy. "I don't have anything in mind. You can name our little one whatever pleases you best," he said magnanimously.

Marian shifted in his arms to look at him. "Indeed, Professor Hill?" she asked mischievously. "Are you sure about that?"

"I trust you completely, Madam Librarian." He grinned. "My only request is that if we do have a son, he won't be named after me."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "You don't want a little Harold Gregory Hill toddling around? I thought that would appeal to you!"

Harold's smile lost some of its luster. "I was named after my reprobate father before I was even a twinkle in my mother's eye. Because he was named after his father, who was named after his father, and so on – they've been passing the same name down ever since they came to America and fought in the Revolution." Burying his face in his wife's disheveled tresses, he whispered, "My father's name was Daniel Joseph Kaczmarek."

There was a small pause as what he said sank in.

"That _is_ a lofty name," Marian agreed, awed. He could feel her looking appraisingly at him. "And it doesn't suit you at all, Harold."

His eyes met hers once more. "It never fit right," he agreed. "That's why I changed it as soon as I struck out on my own, before I even thought of becoming a swindler. Several people along the Eastern Seaboard know me by my 'honest' handle of Gregory Granger – including Marcellus Washburn."

"Well, as I said to you the night you proposed, you will always be Harold Hill to me," Marian avowed, reaching up to caress his cheek. "You're one of a kind, and our children will be, as well."

Harold's grin reached his eyes again. "On the other hand," he said impishly, "if we have a daughter, it would be delightful to have another Marian Rose Hill in the world… "

The librarian gave an amused chortle. "Absolutely not! I'm just as averse to such naming traditions for girls."

"Guess we'll have to start looking through the library's catalog of books to get some ideas, then," he said with a wink.

Marian smiled slyly, and Harold was enchanted to see that even if lovemaking was no longer in the cards for the time being, desire still burned just as brightly in his wife's gaze.

"Tomorrow," she promised, her mouth capturing his in a heated kiss.


	10. First Epilogue: The Faraway Field

_April 1914_

With two precocious twin daughters who were now approaching six months of age, it wasn't often there was a quiet moment in the Hill household. But on this beautiful spring Saturday morning, Marian Paroo Hill relished a rare and lovely moment of silence as she beheld her little Penelope Anne and Elinor Jane slumbering sweetly in their bassinet in the parlor.

"Oh, my… what a gorgeous little pair of darlings," Harold whispered to his wife as he came up behind her, sounding exactly like the immediately infatuated, over-the-moon father he'd been that crisp October evening the girls were born.

"Indeed," Marian said quietly but wryly. "One would never guess they were wide awake and clinging tearfully to us most of the previous night, screaming their heads off whenever we attempted to lay them in their crib!"

Harold chuckled and wrapped his arms around the librarian's waist. "The poor dears are all tuckered out… that soothing syrup your mother brought over this morning certainly was a godsend!"

"Yes, it was," Marian concurred with a sigh. Though her mother had warned her last week that Penny and Elly were due to start teething any day now, the librarian had dismissed this supposition, as her books on childrearing postulated it was still too early for the twins to be approaching that particular milestone. However, when she called Dr. Pyne this morning and he agreed with her mother's assessment, Marian had to admit defeat and accept that she and Harold were going to be in store for many more late-night tears and tantrums in the foreseeable future. "And just as the girls were beginning to sleep all the way through the night!" she fretted aloud. "Perhaps we ought to do whatever it is you have planned for us another time… "

"Nonsense! An afternoon out of the house will do you a world of good, Mrs. Hill," the music professor said firmly, planting a kiss on her cheek and steering her into the front hall. "What time is Miss Peabody due to arrive?"

Marian assessed her reflection in the full-length mirror, trying to get in the spirit of things. Her ensemble was neatly pressed and her chignon was as elegant as ever, but her countenance was haggard; she was pale from lack of sleep and there were noticeable dark spots beneath her eyes. As usual, Harold was absolutely right – she could use a little time to herself. "Jane should be arriving any minute now," the librarian informed her husband as she raised her fingers to her cheeks in order to pinch a little color back into them. "I told her eleven forty-five, but she's always at least ten minutes early."

"Of course she is – otherwise you would have told her to come at eleven thirty," Harold laughed as he adjusted his bowtie. "But other than her enduring quirk of excessive punctuality, she's settled rather nicely into River City, hasn't she?"

Marian nodded, reflecting that Jane Edna Peabody had settled nicely into her new life, indeed. Over the past several months, the young woman had lost a good deal of her nervous reserve and blossomed socially; while Marian remained her closest friend and confidante, the assistant librarian had also found other kindred spirits among River City's young ladies. With her kind and friendly nature, Jane was well-liked among the older women as well. And when she stopped trying to force her voluminous hair in tightly wound braids or mash every little capricious curl so flat against her head, she started to receive promising attention from the opposite sex, as well. After Marian had recovered from childbirth and returned to the library, Jane sought advice on hairstyles and, with her mentor's help, fashioned a partial chignon that prevented the majority of her tresses from getting in her way, while still accounting for the inevitability that several unruly strands would end up tumbling loosely around her face and shoulders. The effect was softer and much more flattering; allowed a little extra freedom to fall where they would, the assistant librarian's curls no longer looked like they were desperately trying to escape from an inexorable hairpin prison.

Indeed, Jane's new updo garnered many compliments from both her feminine and masculine peers. While shelving books in the library one day, Marian overheard one moonstruck young man observing that with her "coronet of dark chestnut locks," Jane was a "stunning counterpart" to the beautiful blonde maid in Botticelli's romantic _Portrait of a Young Woman_. Jane, of course, went about her business with her usual perky and oblivious smile as this lavish praise was heaped upon her head… or perhaps she was only pretending not to notice. For Marian had observed that her assistant was extremely careful to retain both emotional and physical distance from men of any age, hesitating even to shake hands or accept a fellow's hand in assistance. It was a real shame Jane rebuffed the overtures of even suitable men; having experienced just how wonderful romantic love could be, Marian wished the same happiness for her dear friend. But another part of her was also selfishly grateful Jane refused to go courting, as the librarian would likely have to find a new assistant if the young woman ever married.

"Oh, my dear little librarian… you look miles away already," Harold teased in a soft voice, breaking into her reverie. "And we haven't even taken one step toward the faraway field… "

"Oh!" Marian started, and beamed at her husband as he wound his arms around her waist and pulled her against him. "Is _that_ where you're planning to take me today?" But then she frowned as she mused over the practicality of such a jaunt. "It's a bit, well… far away, isn't it? What if something happens and Jane needs to reach us? The girls _are_ starting to teethe, so perhaps we should remain a little closer to civilization – "

"I knew I shouldn't have let the cat of the bag!" Harold interrupted, rolling his eyes heavenward and burying his head in the crook of the librarian's shoulder. "Darling, even the most devoted of mothers is entitled to an afternoon off every now and then, and Jane is more than capable of handling whatever difficulties might arise." His mouth found her neck for a persuasive nibble. "I haven't forgotten what I promised you on your previous birthday, or what I promised you that night last summer when I twisted my ankle at the footbridge. So I'm taking you to the faraway field this afternoon, Madam Librarian, come hell or high water!"

As Harold continued his nibbling, the librarian let out a delighted sigh and subsided in her protests. But when her husband lifted his lips from her neck to look at her in the mirror again, she slyly countered, "Well, it's a bit early for us to be going to the faraway field, isn't it? My birthday is still nearly two months away!"

Harold grinned – though his rictus was a bit more strained than usual. "I purposely picked today to maintain the element of surprise… and also because there aren't likely to be as many chiggers in the vicinity."

Marian giggled and winced at the memory; neither of them realized just how much they'd gotten bitten until they'd gotten home and were eagerly undressing each other in a continuation of their heated but unconsummated tryst at the faraway field. Once the librarian and music professor saw the plethora of red welts covering each other's bodies, the romantic mood was dispelled as they suddenly realized just how much they itched. But the warm bath the two of them took together soon revived their ardor, providing both a soothing and delightful distraction to their discomfort. As husband and wife lay entwined in the soapy water, chigger bites soon became the _last_ thing they thought about…

"Promise me you won't let us lie on the ground for so long," the librarian admonished, raising an eyebrow at her husband as his eyes began to twinkle both impishly and ardently. She knew that look; the music professor could never help giving himself away just before he was about to bring their conversation to a heated end. "And we must try to prevent dozing off at all!"

Indeed, as Marian spoke, Harold was already turning her to face him. "I'll do my best to keep us chigger-free," he promised in his low, velvety voice. "And you have my solemn pledge that I'll certainly do everything in my power to prevent you from falling asleep this afternoon… "

Without further ado, he lowered his head to her welcoming décolletage. Fortunately, the librarian was conveniently dressed for such canoodling; she was wearing a white cotton batiste dress with sky-blue trim, open weave lace accents on her collar, bodice and sleeves – and a tantalizingly low square neckline. While Harold might have found the latter characteristic the most alluring facet of the gown, Marian's favorite feature was the sky-blue butterflies embroidered on the front of her bodice and tiers of her skirt. This was the first new dress Marian had bought after the birth of their daughters, and she'd been saving it for just such an occasion. And perhaps the librarian had underestimated the refinement of her husband's sartorial appreciation…

"Mmm," Harold murmured as she moaned her approval of his ministrations, "those blue butterflies make you look even more dainty and delicious than usual, Madam Librarian – like springtime personified. I'll have to avoid giving you grass stains and wrinkles as well; it would be a shame to ruin such a pretty dress… "

Too far gone to think of a flirtatious retort, Marian closed her eyes, wrapped her arms around the man she loved, and reveled in the moment. One of the things she especially took pleasure in since recovering from childbirth was being able to hold her husband so close again. As her hips pressed against Harold's, he let out a low groan and returned the favor, which caused her moans to grow a little louder – and then they were interrupted by a chirpy _rat-a-tat-tat_ at the door.

At the disturbance, Harold's head jolted up from Marian's breasts. Hastily, he smoothed out the librarian's disheveled neckline and said in a still-panting voice, "That'll be Miss Peabody – I'll be in the music room looking over the provisions in the tuba case."

Dazed by passion, Marian was slower to recover her senses. "Whatever for?" she asked dreamily.

Harold grinned crookedly at her. "Madam Librarian, while _you_ can easily present a decent picture with a quick readjustment of your gown, a fellow needs a little more time to recover from a hot and heavy embrace!"

Living with such a mischievous, lascivious man was terribly contagious; with a sly smile, Marian pressed her hips inquisitively against her husband's. Indeed, a certain portion of his anatomy had decided to start the festivities early.

"You little minx," Harold growled approvingly, lowering his mouth to her neck. Although Marian knew the music professor wasn't going to be gentle in his reprisal for her shameless provocation, the love-bite was harder than she expected, and she let out a sharp cry of pleasure and surprise – but mostly pleasure. "Don't worry," he said huskily before she could protest, "I didn't leave a mark."

Another pert _rat-a-tat-tat_, this time more urgent, resounded in the front hall. Giggling even as she blushed a furious shade of crimson, the librarian shooed her self-satisfied husband off to the music room and turned back to the mirror to assess her appearance. After smoothing her hair and gown and taking a few deep breaths to calm herself down – her neck and décolletage were unmarred but her breathing was still a bit too rapid for her liking – she went over to open the door.

"Good morning, Miss Marian!" Jane said cheerfully, clasping the librarian's hands in greeting.

Relieved that her appearance and demeanor must have been nonchalant enough to avoid concerned comments as to the state of her health, Marian leaned in to plant a warm kiss on her friend's cheek. "Good morning, Jane – you're looking well."

Indeed, Jane radiated energy and optimism, as well as a surprising elegance. Perhaps it was her hair; on the rare days when she wasn't on duty at Madison Public Library, the young woman merely tied her tresses back with a thick crimson ribbon. It wasn't a hairstyle Jane wore often, so when she did, Marian was always struck anew by how charming it was.

As for her assistant's indefatigable spirit, it came in awfully handy whenever she watched the girls, and would certainly serve her well this afternoon! Jane had arrived not a moment too soon – Penny and Elly had just woken up from their nap, and were fussing and fidgeting audibly in their bassinet. Curtailing the exchange of any further pleasantries, the two women ushered themselves into the parlor to attend to the girls.

Thankfully, the twins' plaintive cries transformed into excited babbling when they saw not only their mother looming over them, but also their beloved Aunt Jane – they had taken to the young woman right from the start. And Jane couldn't have loved Penny and Elly more than if they truly were her flesh-and-blood nieces; she lavished as much fond affection on the girls as she did their mother.

No sooner than Jane had lifted Elly into her arms and commenced cooing at her, Penny began whimpering and stretching out her arms to be picked up, as well. Marian happily obliged, planting a kiss on her eldest daughter's blonde curls and inhaling her sweet baby smell as she nestled into the crook of the librarian's shoulder. Marian's acquaintances, friends and even her family wondered how she managed to tell the twins apart upon immediate glance, but the librarian had never had any difficulty on that score. Though her babies had been born at the same time, they were not two halves of one whole, in appearance or temperament. Even at their young age, they already showed distinct differences in their personalities; whereas Penny was more energetic and fidgety, Elly was calmer and more docile. There were also subtle variances in their looks; Penny was slightly heavier than Elly and her cheeks were therefore rounder, and they had freckles in different places. Barring all that, Marian still could have recognized which of the twins was which by aroma alone; she staunchly maintained that each of her babies had her own unique scent.

Although Harold also had no trouble telling Penny and Elly apart with only a swift glance at them, even he could not detect such a minute variance in essence; all he could smell was the soap and talcum powder keeping the twins clean and dry. However, even as the music professor marveled at the uncanny perceptiveness of his wife's nose – which indeed proved accurate in differentiating their daughters – he couldn't help teasing her good-naturedly that becoming a mother was really bringing out her Irish heritage: He never thought he'd see the day when his practical, no-nonsense librarian unabashedly embraced what was most likely a mixture of folk superstition and coincidence. For Mrs. Paroo, of course, wholeheartedly believed in this olfactory phenomenon, and held that Marian's heightened sense of smell arose from having been the one to carry the twins to term. "A mother always knows her babies best," she proudly averred.

But, Marian reflected with a tinge of envy as Penny began to babble excitedly and flail her arms at Harold as he entered the parlor, not even she could soothe the girls as quickly or easily as their father could.

Looking as impeccable as he did before their impromptu embrace in the front hall, Harold grinned at his wife and came over to take their fidgeting daughter in his arms – whereupon Penny promptly settled down and closed her eyes. As ever, Marian's heart melted at the sight of her husband cuddling one of their babies, and she beamed at the charming tableau father and daughter presented.

After craning his head to bestow a tender kiss on Penny's plump little cheek, Harold leaned over and whispered just as sweetly into his wife's ear, "I'm ready to leave whenever you are, Madam Librarian."

Marian smiled at her husband and said a little louder, for Jane's benefit, "Let's get the girls settled back down, and then we'll go straightaway."

Jane obligingly laid Elly in the bassinet; fortunately, she went right in without complaint. However, when Harold placed Penny next to her, she refused to relinquish her father and began to fidget querulously as he extricated his fingers from her tenacious grip.

Harold bent over to plant a soothing kiss on his miffed, squirming daughter. "Daddy's got to go now," he explained, attempting to appease Penny as he tucked a blanket around her. "But I'll be back before you know it."

But even after she was snugly swaddled, Penny refused to be consoled. Scrunching up her face, she started squealing – which set off Elly, as well. Harold looked forlorn and out of sorts; it wasn't often he failed so spectacularly at getting the girls settled.

As the music professor regarded his wailing daughters with a pained expression, Marian gently laid a hand on her husband's arm before he completely capitulated. "If we pick them up again, we'll never manage to leave!"

"But they sound so unhappy," he protested.

Marian couldn't help smiling at her husband's indulgence of such tantrums; being a father had truly brought out his sentimental side. While she herself was a tender-hearted mother who almost always dropped what she was doing to console her dear babies whenever they cried, there were times when even she realized it was best to leave them be.

"Penny and Elly will be fine," the librarian said firmly – for her own sake as well as her husband's. "Jane will be here to look after them. In any case, they've already been fed, changed, and had a nice, long nap." And just to be absolutely sure, she paused and assessed the modulation and pitch of the girls' cries. "And most importantly – they're not in any physical discomfort."

Harold nodded – if he hadn't known what an infant's howl of pain sounded like before, he certainly did after the events of last night – but he continued to gaze worriedly at the twins. "I hate to leave them like this, though… "

"Don't worry, Professor Hill – Penny and Elly will settle down eventually," Jane blithely reassured him as she stepped forward and began to rock the bassinet back and forth. "And once they do, we'll have a wonderful afternoon together!"

Though Harold still looked uncertain as to the best course of action, he allowed Marian to steer him out to the front hall after she finished informing her assistant they would return home around five o'clock. But Marian's restraint only went so far; as soon as they had rounded the corner, she tugged her husband's arm until he came to a halt, and the two of them listened carefully as Jane made soothing clucking noises in order to pacify their still-squalling daughters. To Marian's tremendous relief, Penny and Elly's cries soon subsided, and they began to babble gleefully back at their aunt.

The librarian was further encouraged to see the return of her husband's confident cheer; picking up the tuba case, Harold gave Marian a grin that made her heart flutter and, without further ado, ushered her out the front door with his usual devil-may-care aplomb.

XXX

It was hard for Harold to resist the temptation to lace his fingers through Marian's and sprint pell-mell through the streets with her until they burst into the wide-open fields at the edge of town. But somehow, he managed to restrain himself, walking demurely arm in arm with his wife. Any passerby would think the music professor and librarian were merely headed to the emporium to attend to their usual band business, as they often did on Saturdays.

But Harold could not keep the gleam out of his expression that suggested the two of them were embarking on something far more enjoyable than a run-of-the-mill errand – nor, from the looks of things, could Marian. Her eyes twinkled with anticipation and her kissable crimson lips were curved in the secret smile that always made Harold's pulse race faster. And she was wearing the most delectable, low-necked gown… he had to get to get the librarian to that cluster of oak trees on the hill, and soon! The music professor may have been a patient man when it came to waiting for a scheme to come to fruition, but he had been planning this rendezvous at the faraway field for the better part of a year; he'd waited even longer for this day than he had to marry Marian in the first place.

When they finally stepped off pavement and onto dirt, Harold let the tuba case fall unceremoniously to the ground and swept his dear little librarian up in his arms for a long and ardent kiss. Marian enthusiastically embraced him in return, though she did look a bit bewildered when his mouth finally released hers.

"_Someone's_ eager to begin the festivities," she admonished breathlessly, even as she giggled and nestled closer to her husband. "We're barely out of the city limits!"

"You look too good to wait any longer, Madam Librarian," he chuckled, his breathing just as ragged as hers as he tilted his head to bestow several open-mouthed kisses along the line of her neck. "Especially as we still have a good fifteen-minute walk ahead of us… "

Harold's lips descended over his wife's once more, and then he finally let her go so he could retrieve the tuba case. Taking Marian's hand in his, he pulled her swiftly across the fields. Even now that they were alone, the music professor and librarian didn't exactly run, but they did travel at a much faster pace than would have been considered proper for such esteemed pillars of the community.

Fortunately, they were in little to no danger of being seen – and they both knew it. Instead of chiding her husband, Marian laughed gleefully as they traversed the primitive thoroughfare. Harold was thoroughly enchanted by the tableau his wife presented; the librarian moved lightly and gracefully as a doe, effortlessly matching the tempo of his stride. He surmised that Marian had been waiting for an opportunity to do something like this – hence his shameless encouragement of such gamboling.

Clearly, the librarian was enjoying every minute of their uninhibited jaunt across the fields. And why should she not? After several months of having to steadily curtail her physical activity to the point of complete bed rest, followed by a painful labor and gradual recovery from the ordeal of delivering not one but two babies, Marian could now stroll and dance and shelve books and navigate narrow spiral staircases as freely and easily as she had before she'd become pregnant. And on the rare nights husband and wife weren't so exhausted that all they could do was tumble into bed and fall right asleep after a delightful but wearying day of attending to their precocious daughters' needs, Marian had become quite the ardent and enthusiastic lover. She had always made love to Harold with warmth and generosity, but since the resumption of their conjugal activities this past Christmas, she had become quite unabashed in both her enjoyment and reciprocation of the music professor's caresses. Before the birth of their daughters, Marian would never have teased him so brazenly in the front hall when there was a guest waiting to be let in!

Perhaps the librarian's newfound inclination to revel in their connubial relations stemmed from gratitude and relief at how well things turned out. Though neither of them had openly admitted the full depth of their anxieties regarding her impending childbirth, Harold knew that Marian was just as keenly aware of everything they had to lose as he had been. While that sultry night in late August was indeed the last time husband and wife made love before Penny and Elly arrived, Marian continued to be especially tender toward the music professor in both word and deed, even when she was feeling vexed or unwell. And Harold resumed loving his wife as carefully but wholeheartedly as he had before, stealing every sweet moment with her that he possibly could and savoring them until they were gone; just as he held Marian until the very end on that warm July night, even as he heard Constable Locke and his posse thundering down the street toward the two of them. Not even Marcellus' shouts of warning and Winthrop's urgent tugging on his sleeve could get him to relinquish the woman he loved…

Suddenly, Harold needed to have Marian in his arms again. Although they were now halfway up the hill, he tugged his wife to a halt, dropped the tuba case again and pulled her into another kiss.

"For heaven's sake, Harold!" the librarian gasped as soon as their lips parted – though she did not sound at all put out by this unexpected interruption. "We're never going to get to where we're going, at this rate… " Her smile faded when she saw the seriousness radiating from his countenance, and she reached up to caress his cheek. "Is everything all right, darling?"

Harold buried his face in the side of her neck again. "I couldn't wait," was all he could manage, due to breathlessness from exertion and a sudden upswell of emotion. He gulped great lungfuls of air, trying to settle his racing heart. Despite the slight thickening that carrying twins had brought to his wife's waistline, Marian still felt so tiny in his arms. Even six months later, he wasn't entirely used to the idea that there was no roundness or fluttering in between them… and likely would never be between them again, for they had gotten their "heir and spare" all at once. The thought that the librarian's stomach would never again swell with his child both saddened and relieved Harold – while he'd been looking forward to the sweet anticipation of making a family with his beloved over the course of the next few years, he could happily live the rest of his life without experiencing that nebulous but pervasive dread of potentially losing the woman he'd built his entire life around. He took immense comfort in the fact that the line of Marian's body fitted against his as warmly and snugly as it had before he'd gotten her pregnant. It was as if they'd been made for each other from start to finish – no matter what happened.

"A penny for your thoughts," his wife offered tentatively, once his breathing had steadied.

Harold smiled. "Yes, a Penny – and an Elly, too. I was remembering how nervous I was about your confinement; I didn't know what to do with myself when you went into labor! More than anything, I wished I could have been by your side as you gave birth to our daughters."

"Mama is adamant that fathers-to-be should be kept out of the birthing room," Marian said ruefully. "According to her, devoted husbands tend to be dangerous nuisances at such trying times, however capable they may be in other arenas. She stopped allowing my father's presence even in the house after my birth, because seeing or even hearing her in pain distressed him so." She sighed. "And since Papa couldn't endure the turmoil of a successful delivery, it was probably a lot better for them both that he never witnessed what happened during her subsequent confinements… "

Harold nodded; he knew that in between Marian and Winthrop, Mrs. Paroo carried four babies that had never survived to draw their first breath. Two of her pregnancies had ended in miscarriages, and two had resulted in stillbirths. It was unwelcome information that the music professor couldn't stop remembering as he paced the parlor and tried to reassure himself that the piercing, anguished howls reverberating through the house at constant intervals did not necessarily indicate that the librarian's labor was going disastrously awry. But if Mrs. Paroo hadn't given him that pretext to leave the house after so many hours had passed without Marian making any progress – at least, none that he could discern from his inadequate vantage point – Harold would have stormed upstairs and demanded that she and Dr. Pyne let him in the room so he could see with his own eyes how his wife was truly faring.

Marian nestled even closer to the music professor and laid her head on his shoulder. "But I _wanted_ you there, Harold. After it was finally over, I knew without a doubt I should never have let Mama convince me otherwise – especially when nobody could tell me where you'd gone, once I was finally able to give you the happy news. That was one of the worst half hours of my life!"

Harold tightened his arms around the librarian. "Part of me knew that I should have gone straight home from the Washburns' after dinner," he said ruefully. He had attempted to make up for his thoughtless disappearance by being the most attentive and conscientious of husbands over the next few weeks – although Marian quickly forgave his absence, he made sure to give her a full report of his doings if he so much as left the house to check the mailbox – but even so, his impromptu excursion was one of the few actions for which he would always hold a slight but lingering regret. "But since your mother had no new progress to report when I last phoned, I couldn't bring myself to do it just yet; remaining under the same roof as my laboring wife but not being allowed so much as a glimpse of her was more than I could tolerate. Which is why, should we be blessed with another child, I plan to remain right by your side as our baby's being born – no matter what anyone else says. That is," he demurred as Marian's head shot up to look at him, "if you want me."

For a moment, the librarian merely gazed at Harold with glistening eyes, before pulling him close for a warm and grateful hug. As the music professor cemented their new understanding with several small, sweet kisses along the line of his wife's jaw, he remembered another promise he'd made to Marian, and grinned as anticipation warmed his blood once more. It was going to be a wonderful afternoon at the faraway field…

However, when they finally arrived at their usual spot beneath the trio of oak trees on the top of the hill, Harold did not throw his arms around his wife and commence making love to her immediately. While such impatient excitement fueled a good deal of the fun of fooling around outside, he didn't want his first such tryst with Marian to be the sort of slapdash, sordid, hurry-up affair he'd often been forced to settle for as a conman who, soon after completing his successful seduction, had to skedaddle right out of town before the law apprehended him. Even as he introduced his beloved to the wickeder side of lovemaking, Harold made it a point of pride to differentiate from his previous debauchery; for her first tryst at the faraway field, the librarian was going to get something as sweet and slow and carefully crafted as their wedding night.

But as they spread their blanket on the grass, unpacked lunch and got comfortably settled, the former charlatan wondered if he ought to have made his advances right away. As husband and wife ate their midday meal, the silence between them gradually transformed from companionable to strained; it was clear from Marian's nervous smiles, crimson cheeks and averted gaze that she was growing more and more reticent about the afternoon she surmised he had planned for them.

Soon Harold was avoiding his wife's eyes just as she was avoiding his – only he looked away so she wouldn't see the deep disappointment in his expression and feel obligated, however unwillingly, to surrender to his embrace. Because even in the midst of his discontent, he understood her burgeoning apprehension. While it was one thing to dream about and even plan an illicit outdoor rendezvous, it was quite another to outright engage in such lascivious activities. Despite how bold and confident a lover Marian had become, she was still very much the wholesome librarian. While ladylike hesitancy would never have stymied the seduction schemes of Harold Hill, unrepentant conman, it certainly threw a wrench in the desires of Harold Hill, devoted husband and family man.

"Marian," the music professor said in a quiet, earnest voice as he scooted over to his wife and wrapped his arms around her waist, "anything that happens between us this afternoon will be entirely the result of natural and mutual desire – nothing forced. If we don't end up making love this afternoon, so be it. I'm content enough to simply enjoy the picnic and the view with you… and maybe partake in a little light canoodling," he finished with a grin.

Marian's eyes widened in astonishment at this declaration, and she met her husband's gaze once more. As she raised a skeptical eyebrow at him, Harold smiled benignly in return, and did not shrink from her appraising scrutiny of his countenance.

"You won't be disappointed to settle for mere canoodling?" the librarian asked shrewdly, after a lengthy silence had passed between them.

"Not at all – we can always make love this evening, after the girls fall asleep," Harold reminded her, his eyes twinkling once more as he leaned in to whisper in a low, velvety voice, "This afternoon at the faraway field can be one long, delightful prelude leading up to tonight. What better way to heighten the anticipation by enjoying a nice meal together and sharing a few deep kisses on a warm spring day, enjoying the pleasant breezes as they raise goose bumps on one's skin – " He blew softly in the hollow of Marian's throat, making her giggle and shiver. Finding her reaction irresistible, Harold did it again.

"Stop it – that tickles!" she gasped, tilting her torso away from him as best she could while his arms were still wrapped around her.

Harold chuckled and gave his wife's waist a little squeeze – making her jump and quiver even more. "That's precisely why I'm doing that, Madam Librarian."

"Harold, please!" she admonished, a tinge of real annoyance entering her laughter.

Obligingly, the music professor subsided and laid his head on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, darling," he said, starting out repentantly enough. But then his gaze settled on one of the blue butterflies embroidered on her collar, and he impishly added, "I just couldn't help myself; your dress is giving me delightful butterflies… "

Marian groaned and swatted her husband on the arm. "Oh, that's just _terrible_," she reproved – though the indulgent note had now crept back into her tone. "Surely, you can do a little better than that!"

"I can do a _lot_ better than that," Harold asserted, a heated note entering his own voice. Lowering his lips to the hollow of his wife's throat, he planted a soft kiss against it – and then traced his mouth sweetly up the line of her slender neck until he had reached the sensitive spot behind her ear.

Sighing in delighted approval, Marian relaxed into his arms, her eyelashes fluttering against his cheek as she nestled even closer to him. Harold couldn't help twitching – the sensation tickled him something fierce. This "Achilles' heel" of sorts wasn't something he'd discovered about himself until their honeymoon; before Marian, Harold had rarely lingered in the sort of lengthy, idle embraces that could foster such intimate and startling revelations. The former conman's proximity to previous paramours had been determined solely by what was required to achieve profit or pleasure, and his interest in remaining ensconced in even an attractive woman's embrace often dwindled once he'd obtained satisfaction. Of course, Harold was not such a graceless cad as to leave a bed immediately or even several minutes after climax, but it was always a welcome relief when his lover finally succumbed to sleep and he could slip away without difficulty.

But with Marian, the music professor could easily while away a whole morning or afternoon lying in her arms and, once they'd finally tied the knot, he gleefully seized any opportunity to do so. He trusted her with the vulnerabilities of his body and soul just as she trusted him with hers in return. Because while Marian enjoyed teasing her husband every now and then since she'd accidentally discovered this little tic, her actions were clearly inadvertent in this instance; she'd been too caught up in the pleasure he was giving her for her gesture to have arisen from mischief aforethought.

However, as soon as he convulsed at her touch, the librarian let out a sly giggle and blinked against his cheek a second time. Harold twitched even more. "Now who's being naughty?" he chided with a chuckle, moving his face away from the reach of her long lashes.

Marian's kissable crimson lips puckered into the most charming pout. "Well now," she said in mock-petulance, "I thought since you were so delighted by my butterflies, I ought to kiss you like one!" Her eyes gleamed impishly as they trailed down to his throat. "Perhaps you might enjoy it more if I bestowed such blandishments on a _different_ area… "

Even the thought of her lashes fluttering against his neck was enough to send Harold into another paroxysm – especially when Marian angled her head menacingly at him. But thanks to his lightning-quick reflexes, the music professor managed to gather his wife tight against him long before she could carry out this threat, and he smoothly maneuvered her into a reclining position. Once the librarian was pinned flat on her back beneath him – even as she giggled and squirmed in his arms, she helpfully straightened out her legs as he lowered her to the ground – Harold slid a leg over hers.

Although he now had Marian solidly at his mercy, she gazed triumphantly up at him – she had bested him elegantly and effectively, and they both knew it. "So how does it feel to receive a taste of your own medicine, Professor Hill?"

"Retaliation is one thing," the rattled music professor allowed, struggling to sound stern even as he shook with mirth, "but lash-tickling in response to a few tiny puffs of air blown softly is akin to killing a mosquito with an anvil!"

With a wicked smile, Marian raised her head and fluttered her lashes against his cheek again.

Harold shivered and burst into laughter. "Why, you ruthless little vixen! You're definitely going to pay for that… "

Scooting his body a little lower, Harold buried his head in her décolletage and began nibbling lightly at the tops of her breasts. Marian twisted in his arms and shrieked with helpless laughter as he carried out his gentle but inexorable assault on what he knew to be one of her most sensitive areas – especially as she was still nursing the twins.

Once Harold felt he'd made his point, he raised his head to grin victoriously at his tousled, breathless wife. And that wasn't the only victory he was relishing: "Say now, my dear little librarian… so much for the canard that a lady doesn't roll around on the ground," he slyly observed. When Marian looked bewildered, he explained, "Remember the assertion you made a few years ago when we were still courting, on that crisp autumn afternoon Winthrop asked you to join us in our leaf fort and help fend off the imaginary conquistadores invading your mother's backyard? When you declined to be a part of such revels, I promised myself right then and there that someday after we'd married, I'd demonstrate just how exhilarating rolling around on the ground could be… " He leaned in and nuzzled her neck.

Blushing thoroughly crimson, Marian nevertheless laughed and cupped the music professor's face in her palms, pulling him to her for what he anticipated was going to be a deep and delicious kiss – but then she stopped just short of meeting his mouth with hers. "Yes, I _do_ remember that little conversation," she said in a throaty voice, her warm breath tickling his lips. Enchanted, Harold attempted to bridge the maddening gap remaining between them, but she turned her head slightly, keeping herself just out of his reach as she continued, "And while I may have revised my opinion on the suitability of ladies rolling around on the ground under certain circumstances, I still hold that you're just as much of a conniving libertine today as you were back then, _Mister_ Hill."

Harold shook her hands loose. "And you love it, just the same," he hotly retorted, his mouth covering hers.

His kiss was hard, deep and demanding; it wasn't often the music professor was so adamant in his advances, but this being their first outing at the faraway field as husband and wife where the librarian _wasn't_ in a delicate condition, coupled with Marian's relentless teasing, had struck several damaging blows to his self-control. It certainly didn't help matters that not only did Marian's lips part immediately to welcome him, she also twined her fingers in his curls and began to writhe against him as his tongue tenaciously explored the contours of her mouth. When her legs shifted and parted involuntarily due to her movements beneath him, Harold took the opportunity to nudge his thigh in between hers – and kept it there. At that, Marian moaned and extricated one of her hands from his hair, her fingers roaming downward to clutch boldly at his backside. As she brought his hardness flush against her, _his_ hand feverishly found its way beneath the hem of her skirt and all the way up to the opening of her drawers until he was stroking the bare skin of her inner thigh, making her moan even louder.

So far, husband and wife weren't doing anything they hadn't already done at the faraway field before. But they were fast approaching the point of no return and, as much as Harold loved his wife and respected her sense of propriety, he was no sterling white knight when it came to resisting Marian – especially when she was in such a reckless, erotic mood. Her earlier reticence had all but evaporated, so there was no longer any immediate, pressing consideration to stop him from surpassing prelude and going right into consummation. If they progressed any further in their caresses, even the prospect of his wife regretting their lovemaking later wasn't going to be enough for Harold to restrain himself.

Before the last vestige of his finer feelings faded, Harold marshaled a strength of character he would never have believed he possessed, and broke their kiss. "Marian, we have to stop now," he said abruptly, his voice shaking. In no shape to sum up the situation with his usual suave finesse, he told her the plain truth: "Because if we don't, soon I won't be able to."

Harold expected Marian to blush and withdraw, embarrassed by her own forwardness. Instead, she gaped at him with eyes that were both confused and – dare he imagine? – disappointed.

"Do you want to stop, Harold?" she asked softly.

Marian's arms were still around him, the fingers of her left hand lightly stroking the back of his neck. Harold's heart hammered wildly in his chest at her touch. His restraint had never been so sorely tested – and of all the times in the past he'd wrestled with his baser inclinations when it came to the lovely librarian, that was really saying something. Harold couldn't demur or play games; his desire was too intense. "No, I don't want to stop," he said vehemently. "I've never wanted to stop anything less in my entire life!" He buried his head in the crook of her neck and took a few deep breaths, trying to rein his carnal instincts in. "If I could, I'd make love to you all afternoon, Marian. But I'm not about to seduce you against your will – "

"Oh Harold, of _course_ I want you to make love to me this afternoon," Marian interrupted, sounding immensely relieved as she tightened her arms around him.

Now it was Harold's turn to goggle at her. "You do?" he asked, astounded. Meeting his wife's gaze, he saw that she was indeed beaming at him with eyes full of invitation and yearning.

"Harold, I made that decision long before we came here," she affirmed. "Do you remember the afternoon last August when Jane told me all about losing the man she loved?"

Harold nodded. Over time, Marian had told him more and more about Miss Peabody's doomed romance with Professor Randall, until he eventually knew the entire story as well as his wife did. Realizing the full scope of the assistant librarian's plight had only increased his admiration of her cheerful gumption; not many sadder-but-wiser girls could have looked upon the world without at least a little acrimony after such a tremendous loss.

"Well," Marian continued, "it was then that I realized – truly realized – just how precious and fleeting life really is. And I came to the conclusion that if I survived labor without any complications, I'd do a better job of embracing life's pleasures and living to the fullest." She raised her head to bestow a soft kiss on her husband's cheek. "I always knew we'd come back to the faraway field together – and after what you promised me on the footbridge last summer, I knew you'd have much more in mind than the usual 'light canoodling.' So over the past year, I've looked forward to this day as eagerly as I once looked forward to our wedding night."

"But there was a little trepidation mixed in, as well," Harold couldn't help pointing out, even as his desire steadily rose once more.

"A little," Marian acknowledged with a small smile. "But why shouldn't I be nervous? After all, it's quite a leap forward for the strait-laced librarian to make love outside, even in a secluded place like this." Her smile turned coquettish as she cast a downward glance at their tangled legs. "Still, you did promise me anything that happened between us this afternoon would be the result of natural and mutual desire… and I would say that in our present embrace, we're about as 'natural and mutual' as two people can possibly get!"

His apprehension vanishing at last, Harold grinned at his wife in sheer elation. "So," he said mischievously, unable to resist getting in one more playful remark before things got extremely serious between the two of them, "I suppose we can blame our little misunderstanding on a minor case of the 'butterflies,' then?"

Clearly, Marian's patience had reached its peak; though her eyes continued to twinkle with mirth, she cupped Harold's cheeks and let out a scolding, "Ssh!" before capturing his mouth in a heated kiss.

For a brief, wonderful moment, Harold allowed himself to succumb to the librarian's charms, before taking the reins and softening their kiss into something gentler, slower and sweeter. He'd been dreaming of this kind of lovemaking with Marian for over a year, and now that they were finally here, he wasn't about to rush things. Already this afternoon, Harold had fallen into the same trap as he did on their wedding night; what he'd been doing before was akin to hastily ravishing his wife on the parlor sofa instead of bringing her up to their bed for a proper and thorough introduction to passion's delights.

Fortunately, Marian seemed content to follow his lead – especially when he began to tug the already-low bodice of her dress down, even as he continued to kiss her as tenderly as if it were their first time making love. When his fingers lightly traced the creamy skin of the librarian's throat and décolletage, she shivered and arched herself against him – which gave Harold just the opening he needed to slip his hand behind her back in order to begin unfastening the buttons of her gown. However, after a few seconds of futile fumbling, the perplexed music professor was forced to break their kiss as he wondered aloud in a panting voice, "And just _where_ are those darned buttons?"

"Oh, I ought to have known this would happen!" Marian laughed, sounding just as breathless and eager as he presently felt. Catching her husband's still-wandering hand, she brought it back to the front of her bodice. As it turned out, the fastenings were cleverly concealed beneath the vertical, blue-trimmed pleat bordering the left side of her square collar and running all the way down to her waist. At first, Harold was slightly irked by this devious design, but he soon came to appreciate the convenience of this setup when he discovered just how well it aided and abetted the continuation of soft, deep kisses as he resumed unfastening the bodice of his supine wife.

"Now you understand why I chose this particular gown," Marian informed her husband with a sly smile as he slipped his hands inside her open bodice to undo the laces of her corset.

This, too, was made easier by the fact that the librarian was still wearing her maternity corset, which was laced up the sides as well as in the back. Moving with confident ease, the music professor loosened the side laces and popped open the front. As Marian sighed in happy relief, Harold felt his body tighten even more at the fullness and arousal of his wife's breasts. Her nipples were hard and tight, the darkened areolas visible plain as day through her thin cotton camisole; it was all he could do not to lower his mouth to taste this banquet before him. However, the librarian was still nursing the twins, and while she still moaned in genuine delight when her husband's lips traced lightly over the tops and sides of her breasts, Harold knew she could not enjoy such direct, amorous attentions until their daughters were fully weaned.

But there was plenty more to whet his appetite while giving Marian just as much pleasure in return, so without regret or ado, Harold lowered his mouth to his wife's stomach and focused his affections on her soft, round belly. He was well aware that Marian was somewhat miffed by her slow progress in returning to her previous slenderness; although he'd overheard her mother assuring her it was not at all inconceivable for a woman who'd carried twins to remain slightly plump even six months later, he knew it stung his dear little librarian a bit when Mrs. Shinn and the other ladies – save Ethel Washburn, who was presently pregnant with her and Marcellus' first child – reported attaining their former figures within four to five months of their children's births. However, Harold relished the extra fullness motherhood had brought to his wife's curves, and he never missed an opportunity to demonstrate just how attractive she was to him.

As Marian began to writhe beneath her husband's tender ministrations, one of his hands found its way back beneath the hem of her skirt and traced its way up her thigh. When his fingers brushed the ribbons of her drawers, the librarian let out a low moan and lifted her backside off the ground in a heated invitation for him to tug these undergarments from her waist.

Groaning as Marian's display of desire intensified his own, Harold lifted his lips from her stomach and slid his body upward to capture her gasping mouth in a kiss. "All in good time, my dear little librarian," he promised in a husky whisper. Finding the opening in her drawers at last, his fingers traced soft heat and wetness and he slipped not one, but two fingers inside of her.

At that, Marian let out a surprised gasp and her head lolled back; for a moment, Harold wondered if he'd been a little _too_ eager. But as he began to caress her in long, languorous strokes, she clutched him even tighter and cried out his name in a pleading voice. Grinning at her impatience, Harold obligingly increased the pace of his thrusts, taking full advantage of the liberties the librarian's split-seam drawers allowed him. He'd always taken perverse delight in the fact that the opening in a woman's undergarments was so accessible, despite being surrounded by cumbersome petticoats and skirts. It was almost as if drawers were invented to aid and abet outdoor mischief, even if their design was first and foremost the most practical, efficient and comfortable undergarment that could be worn beneath a lady's multi-layered ensemble.

As Marian's body shuddered against his and her cries intensified as she approached ecstasy, Harold lowered his mouth to her neck to further heighten her pleasure with a love-bite. Indeed, she let out a blissful scream – but then, inexplicably, she gasped and stiffened in Harold's arms.

His fingers immediately halted in their frenzied ministrations. "What's the matter, darling?" he asked in breathless alarm. Had he inadvertently hurt her?

Marian looked at him with mortified eyes. "Do you think anyone could have heard that?"

Harold buried his head in the crook of her shoulder so she wouldn't see he was gasping in laughter rather than desire. "It's not likely – there's no one around for miles," he assured her once he caught his breath. Hoping to recapture the mood, he nibbled sweetly at his wife's neck and continued, "That's exactly why I brought you to such a remote place, my dear little librarian – so you could let yourself go to your heart's content… "

Marian still didn't seem entirely convinced – though she wound her fingers in the music professor's tresses and held him against her as she postulated, "Suppose our cries are carried on the wind?"

Wondering if the modest librarian was losing her nerve for their tryst after all, Harold lifted his head to look appraisingly at her. To his relief, her expression revealed a woman who was desperate to be convinced of the wrongness of her assertions. But whether her emotional state stemmed merely from a baser need to sate the arousal he'd awakened in her or a deeper conviction to live life to the fullest, he wasn't certain. And when Marian's hands reached down to boldly caress him through his trousers, he wasn't about to ask any more questions. Whatever her reasons were, she wanted him – and he was never a man to say no to _this_.

"They won't be," Harold avowed hotly, and covered her lips with his. As Marian relaxed and surrendered to delight once more beneath his capable hands, his mouth remained firmly clamped over hers. Muffling each other's moans in this manner was a trick they often used at home to avoid waking their daughters, and would prove just as useful here. And perhaps Marian was right to be a little cautious. While Harold had caressed her most intimate areas during their previous jaunt to the faraway field, he hadn't aroused her all the way to the point of ecstasy… though she'd come awfully close that day.

But this time, Harold made absolute sure his wife achieved her release, tenderly and skillfully gliding his fingers in and out of her, varying the tempo and intensity of his thrusts as she gasped and then moaned beneath his ardent ministrations, until at last, her lips parted from his and she let out a long, keening wail that made his erection strain even tighter against his trousers and nearly sent him rushing headlong into climax, as well. Marian truly was the most passionate, tender and alluring lover he'd ever had; letting out a groan as she continued to clench and throb around his stilled fingers, Harold closed his eyes and savored the wonderful sensation of his wife's satisfaction.

When her trembling finally subsided and his breathing finally steadied, Harold withdrew his hand from in between her thighs and tugged the ribbons of her drawers loose. "_Now_ it's time to remove these," he said in a hoarse, heated whisper.

Not only did Marian obligingly lift her body as he pulled her drawers down her legs, her hand slid inside his trousers and closed around his hardness – the music professor was stunned to discover that somehow, the crafty librarian had managed to undo his belt and the front of his pants without his even noticing. As he'd brought her to climax, he'd enjoyed her caresses of reciprocation, but he hadn't realized she'd gotten so far along in undressing him in return. Marshaling his addled wits, Harold immediately laid his hand over Marian's. After several excruciating false starts followed by a solid half hour of fooling around, he was getting too close to the edge – if her nimble fingers found their way beneath his thin cotton union suit to stroke his bare erection, he'd tumble right over the precipice. "We'll get to me soon," he promised, bestowing several ardent kisses on her brow as it crinkled in frustration. "I'm in absolutely no rush to finish what we've started… "

Needing to calm himself down a little before initiating their lovemaking in earnest, Harold raised his wife to a sitting position, reached into her open bodice and, after pausing to gently rub his thumb over her taut nipple, tugged her corset out from around her. As the deliciously disheveled librarian gazed at him with fervent eyes and a ravenous smile, he withdrew from their embrace to stow her corset and drawers safely in the tuba case… and, at long last, to remove some of his own clothing.

Knowing that Marian wasn't going to wait too much longer for him to get his act together, Harold moved quickly and efficiently; this was a refined operation and, after several years of honing his craft, he had making love outside down to a science. He'd already divested the librarian of the few garments he planned to remove from her, ensuring a tryst that was comfortable, yet still somewhat discreet in appearance. Likewise, he planned to remain judicious in the clothing he relinquished. He'd already taken off his hat and suit-coat before sitting down to lunch, and since Marian had already unfastened his trousers, all that was left for him to do was remove his belt and bowtie, which he placed in the tuba case for safekeeping – lest they become infested by any chiggers that happened to be in the vicinity.

However, as Harold yanked his dress shirt free from his pants and started unbuttoning it, he paused, in a bit of a dither: Should he simply leave his shirt to hang loosely open by his sides, or should he remove it entirely? It probably would have been better to place this garment in the tuba case with everything else, but he didn't want to shed too many clothes – especially when he was leaving Marian so many of hers!

Suddenly, the decision was made for Harold when the librarian reached over and pulled him back to her. As she hurriedly took over the unbuttoning of his shirt, he just as hastily worked himself free of the drawers of his union suit and whispered for Marian to straddle his lap when she had finished in her task. Once the librarian had eased the music professor out of his dress shirt and placed it in the tuba case, she happily complied – though she primly arranged her skirts around her legs as she got settled. Harold began to chuckle at his wife's fastidiousness, but then his laughter was lost in a gasp when her warmth and wetness enveloped him.

As Marian took him in, she let out the most delicious moan and arched her body against his. Letting out a loud groan as he felt her soft curves press into him, Harold grabbed his wife by her hips. And then they were moving together urgently, frantically, panting heavily as they rocked back and forth in each other's arms. Their tryst was just as erotic as Harold had dreamed; the incongruity of them being outside and nearly fully clothed, yet still entwined so intimately, was exquisite in its impropriety. And Marian presented the most captivating picture as he made love to her: her eyes were half closed, her mouth was open in the little _o_ he loved to see, and her head was tossed back, her blonde curls falling out of their chignon and cascading down her back as she writhed against him with fierce abandon.

As Marian's cries mounted, Harold willed himself to persevere until she achieved her pleasure. The moment she let out that telltale wail of ecstasy – no longer bothering to so much as bite her lip to contain the full measure of her delight – he pulled her tight against him, buried his head in the crook of her shoulder, and shouted her name as he lost himself in the sensation of his own, long-awaited release.

As husband and wife continued to hold each other close, their bodies still trembling and their hearts still beating wildly, the most wonderful sense of stillness descended. Harold had always relished this pause after lovemaking, after the blazing fire and heat of passion had burned itself out, because for one brief moment, he was finally able to stop selling and simply enjoy the pleasure he'd worked so hard to achieve. Inevitably, complacency would set in and the fly-by-night salesman would soon be assailed, if not by local constabulary, then by his own inexorable urge to move on, to see what gorgeous stranger awaited him in the next town… and the next… and the next. For Harold, the brief, fleeting moments of euphoric peace he experienced in a lover's arms were as close to heaven as he ever thought he'd get.

At least, they were until he met Marian. Because when Harold made love to her, his attraction didn't dwindle into the usual cold ashes left behind after a torrid but transitory affair. There may have been a stillness between him and the librarian, but there were also embers that smoldered perpetually, just waiting to be rekindled. He had promised Marian on their wedding night that he would love her like this for the rest of his life, and to his amazement and elation, it was a promise he could not only keep, but one that also made him downright wistful for the actual possibility of going to a heavenly hereafter with her when they eventually reached the end of their days on earth.

So while Harold immensely enjoyed these interludes of post-coital quietude with Marian, he normally wasn't able to contain his invigorated exhilaration, which is why he tended to break this lovely silence with a grin and a flirtatious remark. But this time, he felt a strange but satisfying sensation he could only describe as tranquil lethargy, and was content to simply hold the woman he loved more than his old wanderlust, the independence of bachelorhood and even life itself, and thank whatever fortune, fate or deity saw fit to grant him this happiness with her.

It was Marian who finally raised her head to look into his eyes and, with a dreamy, sated smile, she leaned in and kissed him softly on the lips before laying her head on his shoulder again. "Thank you, Harold," she said earnestly. "Thank you for bringing this tremendous, wonderful passion into my life."

Letting out the sigh of relief he hadn't realized he'd been holding in, Harold warmly kissed his wife's hair. "Thank you for giving me a reason to do something greater with mine," he whispered, slipping a hand between them and laying his fingers possessively on her stomach. "Thank you for giving me _two_ more reasons."

XXX

Curled up utterly content in her husband's embrace, Marian Paroo Hill fondly surveyed the vast, forget-me-not blue Iowan skies. As the warm spring breezes bathed her cheeks and stirred her rumpled curls, the librarian let out a languid sigh and closed her eyes in sheer bliss. Back in the days when she was a lonely spinster with few prospects for romance, she had often sat in this very spot and dreamed of lying quietly in her white knight's arms as she gazed up at the heavens… and perhaps pausing in her ruminations every now and then to share a few passionate but chaste kisses with her beau. Even if she could have conceived of physical intimacies as intense as those she'd just shared with Harold, the maiden librarian would never have dared to fathom just how eagerly and unabashedly she was able to make love to a man when they were out in the open.

Perhaps her unusual enthusiasm for such illicit rendezvous was due to their lovemaking having lost much of its spontaneity and abandon since the birth of their daughters. Although husband and wife had happily resumed marital relations on Christmas Eve and continued to enjoy their conjugal embraces wholeheartedly, they did not couple as frequently as they did before, and they were now taking care not to conceive additional children. Harold had sagely suggested this course of action after Marian experienced the resumption of her monthly courses at four months – which came as quite the surprise, as the librarian was still nursing the twins on a somewhat regular basis, though not nearly as frequently as she did at first – and with her full and relieved blessing, he had taken the lead in procuring the necessary devices.

However, Marian knew that while her husband was grateful he could now engage in lovemaking with her as he often as he pleased without worrying that his vigorous carnal appetites would someday leave her a widow with a large brood to look after, she also surmised that having to take such precautions grated on him at times. And if truth be told, she also missed the spontaneity and abandon that had colored their passion during the first few months of their marriage. So when Harold informed her that he was planning to take her to the faraway field this afternoon, her stomach fluttered with a keen and feverish anticipation she hadn't felt in quite some time.

Although Marian was aware that Harold was carrying just as much pent-up desire as she had been these past several months – not to mention that after having to treat her with kid gloves for so long first due to her delicate condition and then due to the presence of "little pitchers" in the house, he was likely relishing this rare opportunity to give free rein to his desires – the sheer impatience of his passion still came as a shock to her. Harold could hardly keep his hands off her curves and his mouth off her lips and neck long enough to spirit her away to this remote place, and while Marian was secure in her convictions that the music professor was not and never had been the kind of man who took what he wanted from a woman by outright force, there were distinctly adamant overtones to his advances that suggested he wasn't willing or able to let their prelude unfold at its usual measured pace. Instead of carefully drawing out her anticipation until she succumbed unreservedly to his seduction, Harold kissed her hard and embraced her with a fervor that was downright fierce.

Yet the harder he kissed her and the more insistently he caressed her, the more Marian wanted him. She had been somewhat reticent as she ate her lunch and eyed her restless husband, wondering if his volatile passion would be too overwhelming for her admittedly Victorian sensibilities. But when Harold sweetly and unselfishly offered her an out, the librarian's apprehensions vanished and she found herself shamelessly teasing her husband until he abandoned his newfound restraint and ravished her. And she stepped right off this precarious precipice with him, matching the music professor's ardor and reciprocating each of his kisses and caresses and thrusts until they were both panting not just with ecstasy but, at long last, release. After their lovemaking was over, they remained in their embrace for just a little while longer, simply holding each other and savoring the deep and wonderful stillness between them. And when Harold smoothed her skirts with his still-trembling fingers before refastening his trousers, wrapping his arms tightly around her and pulling her down to lie on the blanket with him, Marian knew that however much she might blush when her husband turned toward her with that affectionate but well-pleased grin, she would never regret the decision she'd made all those months ago.

But when Harold finally raised his head to meet her gaze, his smile was unusually gentle – he looked both sated and pleasantly stunned.

Delighted by this turn of events, Marian arched an eyebrow at her befuddled husband and said, "So, darling… was our latest trip to the faraway field everything you dreamed it would be?

"Everything – and more," the music professor replied in an earnest and tender voice. His finger lightly traced one of the blue butterflies at her collar. "I still can't believe my luck in landing you, Marian… whatever fortune, fate of deity put you in my path certainly knew what they were doing!"

"Oh, Harold!" she said with a laugh – which softened into a dreamy sigh when he dipped his head to nuzzle gently at her throat.

"This is the third time we've been to the faraway field," he observed in between kisses. "And given the events of the past hour, I'd have to say the old adage is true – the third time's definitely the charm!"

"Is it really, Professor Hill?" the librarian asked in a mock-scandalized tone.

Harold lifted his head again, this time sporting his trademark self-satisfied grin. "Yes indeed, Madam Librarian – and it'll also be the charm the fourth, fifth, sixth and so forth times I take you here, as well!"

Feeling the heated blush spread across her cheeks at last, Marian nevertheless pulled her husband to her for a long kiss before they subsided into a quiet embrace once more. They still had at least three hours before they had to pack up and head home to their daughters, and the afternoon was looking awfully promising for at least one more tryst. Possibly two, if the librarian knew her charming music professor. When Harold reached up to caress her curls, Marian smiled, nestled even closer to him, and closed her eyes as she luxuriated in his tender ministrations. It was going to be a wonderful afternoon…

"I hate to spoil such a perfect moment, darling," he murmured into her tresses, "but if we remain in this position for too much longer, we're both going to fall asleep."

Too comfortable to care, Marian nodded slightly and gave a noncommittal "mmhmm" before lapsing back into stillness and silence.

Harold chuckled. "Does this mean I have your permission to break the solemn promise you exhorted from me earlier?"

"Mmhmm," the librarian repeated, feeling herself drift even further into a delightful doze.

Her husband chuckled again and said something else, but by now, Marian was too far gone to decipher speech… until she found herself being pulled smoothly but abruptly into a sitting position.

"For heaven's sake, Harold!" she said crossly as alertness sharpened her senses once more. "Was that really necessary?"

He grinned and, once she had fully recovered her bearings, he helped her to her feet. "A promise is a promise, my dear little librarian – and when I first started courting you, I swore to myself that my days of breaking them were over. You might not be concerned about chiggers at present, but you'll thank me for this later tonight, when you're not itching up a storm as we once again attempt to soothe our poor, teething daughters to sleep!"

Marian turned away from him partly on the pretense of packing the lunch dishes back into the tuba case, but mostly so he wouldn't see the pleased smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Well, as you pointed out earlier, it's a bit early in the season for those nasty insects to be up and about – not to mention we packed a much thicker blanket this time around! We probably would have been fine to fall asleep for a little while, at least… "

Harold wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her into a warm hug. "Darling, this isn't the only romantic rendezvous I had planned for us this afternoon," he confessed, his voice softening. "While an outing to the faraway field is always a delight, I also look forward to the rare occasions we get to be entirely alone together at home." He paused to trace the outline of her ear with his mouth before continuing, "As much fun as we had today, I missed being able to undress you completely and kiss you everywhere, and there's really only one place I can do that with the absolute certainty we'll remain hidden from prying eyes. So I arranged for Miss Peabody to take Penny and Elly to your mother's house at two o'clock – where she'll likely remain for the rest of the afternoon, right along with the girls!"

Marian smiled at her husband's observation. Ever since that sweltering night last August when the two ladies joined forces to ensure the pregnant librarian and injured music professor's comfort, her mother had doted on Jane just as much as she did her own granddaughters. Likewise, the young woman had warmly returned the matron's familial affections.

"By my estimate, it's about one thirty now… so by the time we get home, the house should be nice and empty," Harold surmised, pulling her even closer. "I thought we could take a nice, long bath and then spend the rest of the afternoon in bed… or wherever else tickles our fancy. For instance," he said in a husky whisper as his lips meandered down to her neck, "I can't even remember the last time we made love in the music room… "

"We _are_ overdue," Marian agreed in a throaty voice, closing her eyes and losing herself in her husband's ardent caresses.

But once again, Harold put an end to their reverie far too soon for her liking. "Oh Marian," he sighed as he lifted his lips from her neck and took a small step backward so she could no longer press into him. "We'd better stop this and get dressed… otherwise we'll never make it home!"

With an exasperated sigh, Marian moved out of her husband's embrace and retrieved her corset and drawers from the tuba case. But in truth, she was grateful for Harold's foresight. With her disheveled tresses and rumpled skirts, it was going to be difficult enough to make herself presentable for the long journey home; an additional tryst would no doubt make such ablutions absolutely impossible! Indeed, the librarian was starting to grow uneasy at the prospect of returning to town. Though she and Harold had not cast off one other's garments with abandon, the disarray that resulted from their tryst wasn't going to be quite so easy to tidy up, this time. And even if Marian did manage to smooth her hair and gown into some semblance of decency, would it be possible to reach home without arousing anyone's suspicion?

But to the librarian's delight, not only did she discover that the tuba case contained her blue paisley shawl – the longest and widest wrap she owned – she also unearthed her brush and mirror set, as well as a comb for Harold. When Marian marveled aloud at her husband's farsightedness, he merely grinned and replied, "I've had both the time and the experience to consider these crucial details, my dear little librarian!"

Frowning slightly at the music professor's offhand but revealing remark, Marian turned her attention back toward neatening her ensemble. Though she was certain of her husband's fidelity and devotion, she was not particularly fond of being reminded that he was no stranger to such illicit embraces – and had likely made love to a vast number of women in a vast number of fields, forests and back alleys. Marian's stomach flip-flopped unpleasantly at the image of Harold coupling with other women with as much gusto and passion as he'd coupled with her, and she couldn't help wondering just how she measured up to the plethora of lovers he'd had before. While Harold had once confessed that before meeting her, the closest he'd ever come to falling in love was with Eileen – and even then, he added that he wasn't quite sure he'd use such a strong word as _love_ to denote his feelings for the mercurial lass – the subject of his previous liaisons remained largely unspoken between the two of them. Marian had not wanted to know too much about this aspect of her husband's checkered past, and Harold had not wanted to tell her; they'd both come to the tacit agreement that it was best not to discuss such sordid details. And when he made love to her so sweetly and wholeheartedly and earnestly, always striving to ensure her comfort even when it was diametrically opposed to his baser desires, it was easy to forget that he was once an unscrupulous philanderer…

But as Marian regarded the mirror and brush in her hand, she suddenly realized how silly her apprehensions were. How many women had Harold gone to such lengths to protect their reputations? While he might have conducted himself with an air of gentlemanly discretion when it came to arranging an affair, she deemed it highly unlikely that he would have lingered long enough afterward to ensure that the lady's every last strand of hair was neatly smoothed back into place – let alone provide her with the objects necessary for such grooming! And while she was at it, how many times had Harold attempted to stop himself from ravishing her this afternoon, until she unequivocally told him she'd been waiting for him to do just that? Though this afternoon was the first time they engaged in a rendezvous that was reminiscent of his wanton former existence, the music professor was anything but a callous Casanova in his behavior toward her.

So when Harold wrapped his arms around her waist and noted her solemn expression with concern, Marian smiled with genuine ease and reassured her husband that the only things troubling her were her unruly tresses and skirts. Because even with the aid of a handheld mirror and brush, her toilette was still proving more challenging than she had bargained for. The librarian found it both amusing and aggravating that Harold was already fully dressed; while he hadn't had too much trouble making himself look presentable, _she_ had only just managed to put on her drawers, and was going to have to remove her gown entirely in order to get back into her corset! Fortunately, with her husband's nimble hands – and, of course, his experience in helping her dress during her pregnancy – she was soon as properly clothed as he was.

However, while the bodice of her gown was now returned to its former pristine state, the skirts were hopelessly wrinkled. Marian was slightly comforted by the fact that they were not grass-stained. And by luck or by grace, her neck was not marred by the love-bites she'd received earlier, so she had no need to hide it from view; she could wear her shawl draped low on her arms, thereby concealing the majority of her disheveled skirts. And the librarian was further reassured to observe that upon closer examination, Harold also bore slight but telltale signs of their heated afternoon together: his dress shirt was missing a button, his collar was creased beneath his impeccable bowtie, and his chestnut waves continued to spill messily over his forehead even after he'd applied his comb and crammed as many of them as he could under his straw boater.

This reminded Marian that she still had to do something about her own flyaway curls, which were presently as unruly as Jane Edna Peabody's once were. She briefly considered repurposing her blue sash as a hair ribbon, but as she was in her late twenties and a married mother of twins, she was not young or maidenly enough to carry this style off without attracting unwanted curiosity. And despite Harold's careful planning, he apparently had not counted on her losing so many hairpins during their tryst, as he had not included any in the tuba case.

"My apologies for not packing extra hairpins, darling," Harold said with a rueful grin as he helped her scour the blanket for scattered pins, "but these days, my first instinct is to give those slippery little gewgaws a wide berth!"

Marian laughed. "Well, at least none of the ladies will ever see any incriminating evidence of our personal affairs, all the way out here!"

Which was a good thing, too, because she was not about to scour the grasses for errant hairpins, even if it turned out the majority of them had fallen on naked ground. The librarian's fastidious sense of hygiene overruled her inclination to avoid frivolous waste; she was not about to risk a scalp infestation, even for the sake of propriety! Fortunately, they were able to retrieve enough hairpins from the blanket for her to construct a passable chignon. And as a finishing touch, she donned her broad-brimmed hat and strategically tilted it over her tresses to conceal the most glaring imperfections in her updo.

"What do you think?" Marian asked, modeling her completed ensemble a bit nervously.

Harold leaned in and gently kissed her lips. "You look immaculate, Mrs. Hill… so what say we head home now?"

Marian smiled at her husband's shameless flattery. While they may have looked presentable enough upon first glance, any River City-ziens they met en route to the charming Victorian would surely surmise from the incongruity of their tuba case, state of dishabille and ruddier-than-usual complexions that the music professor and the librarian were most certainly _not_ sedately ensconced in the music emporium for the past several hours… which gave her an idea.

"The emporium is a good deal closer than home – perhaps we ought to stop there to wash up a bit?" she suggested.

Harold immediately shook his head. "I considered that possibility, but in the end, I think it'd be riskier; we'd have to go up Center Street, where we'd be guaranteed to meet at least one person we couldn't easily elude. I promised your mother we'd come over around six o'clock to fetch the girls and to stay for supper; I don't want anyone else cutting into our afternoon together if I can help it! Anyhow, until we've gotten properly cleaned up neat and trim as you please, it's much better to keep to the back roads." He grinned. "And if you stick with me, Madam Librarian, I'll make sure that _you_ at the very least get home with your reputation intact – even if it means I have to sacrifice a little of my own dignity to do so."

While Harold was not the plain, modest and quiet man the librarian once envisioned for herself, his gallantry and devotion more than made him the white knight she had always dreamed of marrying. With no further qualms or objections, Marian beamed at her husband and offered him her hand, her heart quickening with excitement and anticipation as they hastened home to partake in many more afternoon delights.

XXX

_A/N – For anyone who's curious, the "ladies don't roll around on the ground" remark Harold teased Marian about in the faraway field stems from a scenario that originally took place in Tmyres77's delightful fic, "Chocolate Kisses" – a definite must-read for anyone who loves Harold/Marian flirty shenanigans and courtship canoodling! And I haven't forgotten about Miss Peabody's happy ending – hers is coming up in the next and final chapter!_


	11. Second Epilogue: Miss Peabody's New Beau

_April 1925_

Several years later, to the surprise and delight of both herself and her husband, Marian took another leave of absence from Madison Public Library to welcome Robert Eli Hill into the world. Though her pregnancy was a lot less challenging this time around, she had such unshakeable confidence in her dear assistant and friend that she remained at home for nearly four months, instead of the mere two-and-a-half months she had taken the first time she went into confinement. When Marian relinquished her position in mid-January, the trees were bare and the landscape was buried in several feet of snow, and when she resumed her normal schedule at the end of April, the blossoms were in full flower and the landscape was lush with new growth. And when the librarian saw just how far James Hearst's advances toward Jane had progressed during her absence, she reflected that the height of spring was indeed the time of year when a young man's fancy turned to thoughts of love.

Last August, Professor James Hearst arrived to town from Gloriosa, Kansas, having accepted the school board's offer to become the new history teacher at River City High School. The position had been vacant for two months due to the not entirely unexpected but nevertheless sudden passing of Horace Meriwether, an august institution who had held the job for the past forty-five years. Unlike Mr. Meriwether, who was every inch the stern, exacting and antiquated pedagogue, Mr. Hearst (who insisted on relinquishing his title of "professor" now that he was no longer teaching at the college level) was a handsome, pleasant and affable fellow in his mid-thirties. However, when both his looks and personality were taken together as a whole, Mr. Hearst presented a rather unassuming picture, so he didn't cause much excitement among the gossips at first. It wasn't until he became a regular fixture at the library and was often seen conversing with Miss Jane Edna Peabody that he became an object of interest that set tongues wagging. Was another romance brewing among the stacks in Madison Public Library? While Mr. Hearst was anything but bombastic in his demeanor, the River City-ziens had not seen such overt interest displayed toward one of their librarians since Professor Harold Hill came to town all those years ago – and everyone knew how that turned out!

By the time October rolled around, the townspeople were buzzing with all the details about this new arrival they could glean from observation and polite conversation, and subsequently fashioned them into a cohesive history they could use to assess the suitability of such a match. James Hearst had taught ancient languages and literature at Eastern Kansas Classical College in Gloriosa, hence the previous "professor" title. He wore no wedding ring, but he was not a lifelong bachelor; his wife had passed away a few years before. Being childless and seeking a change of scenery after his parents also passed away, he scoured the want ads throughout the Midwest and ultimately decided to resettle in River City.

As the majority of the town's spinsters and widows deemed Mr. Hearst too quiet and bookish for their tastes, despite his good looks, it was universally agreed that he and Miss Peabody would make a fine match. For not only were the history teacher and assistant librarian both college-educated and completely alone in the world – Miss Peabody's aunt and uncle had also recently passed away – they were around the same age, and possessed similar temperaments and interests. And although Miss Peabody was long past the usual marriageable age for a woman, she had never been prettier. Not only had she gradually perfected how to dress in colors and cuts that showed her looks to their best advantage, the fashions of the twenties perfectly suited her small, angular frame. And now that bobbed hair was all the rage and propriety no longer dictated that women must wear long and cumbersome tresses, the assistant librarian had taken the opportunity to shear her copious locks to just above her shoulders. The result was even lovelier than her loose chignons and crimson ribbons of yore: Miss Peabody's tight chestnut curls softened into a loose and flattering wave that, while retaining the tendency to become disordered when the assistant librarian was excessively active or traversing a windy thoroughfare, could easily be tamed with a comb or even just a few pats of her hand.

Ever sensitive to gossip pertaining to herself or her loved ones, Marian was well aware of what everyone was saying about Jane Peabody and James Hearst. Though she herself couldn't help watching the pair with some interest – she could certainly understand why everyone was so suspicious, as the assistant librarian and history teacher did have a lot in common and seemed to genuinely enjoy one another's company – she didn't put too much stock in the townspeople's idle speculations. After all, the history teacher's interactions with her friend were innocent enough to cast doubt in the rational observer's mind. As a result of Mr. Hearst's endeavors to develop challenging and rigorous lesson plans for his students, coupled with the fact that he was a scholar of the ancient world and the books he needed were scattered throughout the library, it was necessary for him to converse often with the assistant librarian regarding the collections. And while Jane might cheerfully have gone above and beyond to aid the history teacher in his efforts, she was merely providing the same chipper, thorough service as she would to any other patron. Out of everyone in River City, Marian knew Jane best of all, and even though her friend seemed to relish these laborious academic tête-à-têtes, she didn't regard Mr. Hearst with any secret smiles or fond glances – at least, none that the librarian could discern.

As for Jane's alleged suitor, he was a stranger, and a quiet man to boot, so Marian initially had difficulty ascertaining whether he felt something more than cordial camaraderie for her friend. However, as the weeks and months passed, the librarian did notice that Mr. Hearst was seeking more and more of her assistant's time, and some of his pretexts for doing so were downright flimsy. And one blustery, gray afternoon in late November, when the library was empty of all other patrons except the history teacher, Marian overheard him warmly praising Jane's clever mind and scrupulous attention to detail. To the librarian's unsurprised amusement, Jane dismissed these compliments with a light laugh and blasé shrug. But Marian was surprised to see how smoothly and nonchalantly Mr. Hearst steered the discussion into a different topic altogether after this dismissal. For the rest of his visit, he did not make even the slightest attempt to flirt with Jane again; their conversation turned so dry and dense that the librarian found herself nodding off where she sat. (But then again, it could simply have been the exhaustion of being six months pregnant that prompted her doze!) Still, it was clear to Marian that even if her assistant librarian remained blithely oblivious to the significance of such admiring remarks from an unmarried man, the history teacher was unmistakably developing an attraction to her.

Even as she felt some sympathy for the hapless Mr. Hearst, who was cautiously but undeniably fighting a losing battle, Marian had to giggle over the situation. Little did Jane know all those years ago when she rearranged the ancient history section that she was sowing the seeds for her own romance! At first, the well-ordered Mr. Hearst was not particularly fond of the fact that the tomes pertaining to his subject of study were spread out all over the library, and this led to many civil debates with Jane, who respectfully but firmly maintained the library's position on the matter. But Mr. Hearst also refused to budge in his conviction that the ancient history volumes needed, or at the very least, deserved greater consolidation. It was a polite but stubborn battle of wills that Marian watched with barely contained laughter; the two of them were equally matched in their passion for proper organization of academic minutiae… and perhaps each other, as time went on. But as the librarian was never one to interfere in matters of the heart, she did not share her observations with anyone – not even her husband, though she surmised that Harold was just as aware of the potential romantic undercurrents between the assistant librarian and history teacher as anyone else in town.

As fall turned into winter, Marian became so thoroughly distracted by her confinement and the subsequent birth of her son that she soon forgot all about Mr. Hearst and the buzz of gossip surrounding him and the assistant librarian. Jane certainly never mentioned him during her visits to the Hill homestead – she either discussed library administrative matters or cooed over how utterly sweet and delicious baby Robert was – so for several months, the history teacher did not enter the librarian's thoughts at all. However, once Marian was fully recovered from childbirth and back to her usual schedule, she quickly noticed that things had progressed quite a bit further during her absence. Mr. Hearst was now visiting the library six days a week instead of three, and he steadfastly remained in residence from early afternoon to just before closing time. While Marian had only suspected the history teacher's interest in Jane last fall, she witnessed it was far more pronounced this spring; his countenance alone portrayed a man who was quietly but desperately in love. And as usual, the townspeople were in a frenzy over the affair.

Unbelievably, the only person who did _not_ seem aware of Mr. Hearst's feelings was Jane. Marian watched the pair much more carefully for signs of clandestine romance, and noted that though the assistant librarian did not rebuff the history teacher's polite but constant attentions, and assisted him as patiently and indefatigably as she did any other patron, she did not seem to return his interest. While Marian did wonder at Jane's blithe obliviousness – which to her seemed almost purposely obstinate at times – she had to conclude that her dear friend was truly ignorant as to what Mr. Hearst's incessant loitering and long conversations indicated in regards to his feelings for her.

But scandal was brewing in Marian's library, and she could no longer ignore what was going on beneath the surface – even if the romance was entirely one-sided. While Jane's behavior was irreproachable as ever, Mr. Hearst was fast reaching the point where his conduct was both humiliating to his own dignity and causing too much distraction among the other library patrons. For while Cissy Gale and her friends had grown up and settled down into sedate existences as wives and mothers, each new generation brought with it a gaggle of silly girls who actively sought out and reveled in scandal-tinged romance – and whatever sordid details they couldn't ferret out from their observations of the assistant librarian and history teacher's lengthy but still-appropriate interactions, they certainly weren't above inventing!

So one Wednesday afternoon in the middle of May, Marian sent Jane on several errands that would take her awhile to complete. When Mr. Hearst came in and settled in his usual quiet corner – the librarian noted the flash of disappointment in the history teacher's eyes when he scanned the stacks and did not see the assistant librarian flitting in and out of them as per usual – she went over and struck up a conversation with him.

"May I help you find something, Mr. Hearst?"

He gave her a cordial smile. "Thank you kindly, Mrs. Hill, but I don't require any assistance at the moment." He gestured to the stack of papers in front of him. "I have several essays on Mesopotamia to grade, so I'll be occupied for the better part of the afternoon."

Marian nodded and smiled politely in return. For a moment, she wondered if she ought to return to the front desk and let the busy history teacher get on with his work. Perhaps it wasn't her place to interfere in such delicate matters. But then, as if to urge her onward, a sudden burst of high-pitched giggling erupted from the history section on the second floor – if the librarian had to guess, the girls had gotten into Casanova's _Spanish Passions_ again.

After turning to toss a sharp "hush!" in the girls' direction, she took a seat across from Mr. Hearst and gazed levelly at him until he raised his head to look at her.

When he regarded her with a courteous but questioning smile, Marian opened the conversation in her characteristic straightforward manner:

"Mr. Hearst," she said gravely – though she made sure to maintain a nonchalant expression for the benefit of the other patrons, who weren't quite in earshot but could see them plain as day. "I don't wish to pry into your personal affairs or make untoward suppositions as to your character, but it has come to my attention that your behavior toward my assistant librarian is a bit warmer than one would expect of a mere friendly acquaintance… your behavior could easily be construed as courting, in certain circles. And the gossip mill in River City is quite robust in that regard, I'm afraid."

Although Marian was never one to sugarcoat matters, she had tried to be tactful as possible, not wanting to embarrass the mild-mannered history teacher. But to her surprise, Mr. Hearst did not look remotely abashed. Instead, he gave the librarian an appraising look – which was soon replaced by his usual affable smile.

"And what, precisely, have people noticed that would lead them to draw those conclusions?" he asked innocently. "A teacher spending a good deal of time in the library is hardly cause for such suspicion. Nor is his consulting the assistant librarian regarding scholarly matters – especially when his subject of study is spread out all over the library."

Marian smothered a smile at the wry note that slipped into Mr. Hearst's civil tone. "I understand your difficulty," she concurred. "Unfortunately, space constraints don't allow for a consolidated ancient history section, at present."

Mr. Hearst nodded ruefully. "I do understand, and meant no insult – the library collections are some of the most well-ordered I've ever seen." He regarded Marian with earnest eyes. "If I'm disturbing the peace in any way, I apologize. It wasn't my intention to cause trouble."

Mr. Hearst was so genial and apologetic that Marian was starting to feel embarrassed by her forwardness – perhaps it was best to end their conversation here and leave the poor man alone. But her conscience wouldn't allow her to do this. While the history teacher's demeanor was obliging enough on the surface, nothing had actually been resolved; he was clearly willing to dance around the issue until the cows came home. So it was time for her to be even more straightforward.

Letting her expression grow as serious as her tone, Marian continued to gaze steadily at the gracious but shrewd schoolteacher sitting across from her. "Allow me to be frank, Mr. Hearst. Jane is not just an assistant librarian to me; I couldn't love her more than if she were my own sister. I've been watching your interactions with my dear friend over the past several months, and while you have done nothing meriting reproach – as far as I have seen – it's clear that you feel something more for her than mere friendship. And while I don't disapprove of such developments, I would advise you to tread very carefully."

Mr. Hearst's smile faded. "Has Miss Peabody asked you to have this talk with me?" he asked quietly. "Does she want me to leave her alone?"

Marian shook her head. "She hasn't said a word to me. I'm not even sure if she's aware of your feelings for her."

Mr. Hearst looked relieved – and then crestfallen. He lowered his gaze to the pile of papers in front of him. "Well… nothing untoward has happened between us in the library during your absence. And no such shenanigans will occur in the future."

Even as Marian couldn't help feeling a pang of sympathy for his lovelorn plight, she continued, "I took it upon my own initiative to talk to you. In River City, we look out for our own. Jane may be unmarried and an orphan, but she is far from alone in the world."

Mr. Hearst's gaze snapped back to Marian's, making her gasp – she had never before seen him look so steely and intense. "I'm not a cad, Mrs. Hill," he coolly informed her. "I _do_ care for your Miss Peabody – a great deal, in fact. It's my intention to court her honorably – if she's amenable to my attentions, of course." He paused, and the rueful smile reappeared on his countenance. "Unfortunately, I'm having a bit more difficulty determining her interest than I expected." He sighed and looked past her. Marian followed his gaze and saw that all the girls had gathered into a furtive, giggling cluster by the balcony railing and were now staring avidly down at the two of them from their lofty perch. "And now it seems my behavior is making me into a town spectacle. I _do_ need to grade these papers this afternoon, but rest assured I'll curtail my visits from now on."

After glaring at the group – who quickly went about their business rather than face the librarian's wrath – Marian turned to regard the history teacher with a much kinder expression than she had displayed to the girls. "It's not my intention to run you off," she earnestly assured him. "Especially as you're hardly what a reasonable person would call a spectacle! This conversation was for your benefit as well as Jane's. Few people know better than I how merciless River City's gossips can be, even to the underserving. I only wanted to spare you the humiliation of potentially _becoming _a spectacle in the near future."

For a moment, Mr. Hearst regarded her with inscrutable eyes – and then the affable smile was back. "I appreciate the warning, Mrs. Hill," he said respectfully. His smile grew wistful. "I'm quite aware of how small towns work. In Gloriosa, we also looked out for our own. I spent my whole life there; grew up, married my high-school sweetheart, taught at the local college. My greatest dream was to raise a family, and failing that, to grow old with my Mary and someday be buried in the family plot where she now rests. I never imagined I'd leave it all to start over in River City, Iowa; I'd never even heard of this place until I was looking for a job. I never imagined I'd spend my days as an affable nuisance in the public library, waiting for the pretty assistant librarian to smile sweetly but politely at me, as a beggar waits for a few crusts of bread to be thrown in his direction. And being a starving man, he gulps down those meager crumbs with the deepest gratitude… " He trailed off and shrugged, still smiling. "It's fascinating, isn't it, the unexpected directions life can take one?"

"I'm sorry," Marian replied, not knowing what else to say.

"It's all right," he said understandingly. "You have your dear friend's best interests at heart, and I'm a stranger to your town." Gathering his papers together, he stood from his seat. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Hill. I'll be back another day, when the library is not so… occupied." He eyed the balcony, as did Marian. Sure enough, the girls were gathered at the edge of the railing once more, like crows that couldn't resist flocking around carrion no matter how many stones were thrown in their direction. "But for now, I think it would behoove us both if I found another place to grade my papers."

Though the librarian agreed it would probably be best for Mr. Hearst to depart from the library at present, she was saddened to have exacerbated his loneliness and made him feel like even more of an outsider. Wanting to make things up to him a bit, she offered, "I'll be sure to give Jane your regards when she returns from her errands."

Mr. Hearst shrugged as if it didn't much matter to him, and briskly finished gathering up his things. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Hill," he repeated, his tone polite but distant as he tipped his hat to her. And then he was gone.

Thoroughly irked at both herself and the situation, Marian looked up at the balcony, ready to unleash a blistering tongue-lashing at her pesky audience. But the girls had wisely dispersed by now, so there was no one left to scold.

With a sigh and slump of her shoulders, Marian returned to the front desk and threw herself into neatening up the card catalog. She would keep her promise to Mr. Hearst and pass along his regards to Jane, but after the mess she made of her discussion with the history teacher, she decided not to have a similar talk with her assistant – at least for the time being.

XXX

However, little did the librarian know, her assistant had long been aware that Mr. Hearst's attentions indicated more than an interest in mere friendship. As Jane approached the doors to the library after the completion of her errands, she silently braced herself for yet another afternoon of pretending obstinate ignorance. As winter turned into spring, the history teacher's presence, though polite, had become so pronounced that even a naïve little goose like herself could not remain unaware she was being courted – though Jane was quite content to play the fool if it would make Mr. Hearst tire and move on. After all, this ploy had always served her well in the past. However, nearly nine months had passed since the history teacher's arrival to town, and he was still pursuing her as doggedly as ever. Jane was uneasily starting to wonder if, for the first time in her life, she was going to have to come up with a new tactic to put her would-be beau off his persistent pursuit.

Perhaps she ought to come right out and tell Mr. Hearst that he needed to forget about any romantic dreams he may or may not possess regarding the two of them. And Jane _would_ have told him this if he had asked her for a date. Yet for all his cordiality, he hadn't so much as hinted that he was planning to make her such an offer. So perhaps she ought to start limiting the time they spent in conversation in the first place. But somehow, Jane had difficulty doing even that. It wasn't that she disliked her interactions with Mr. Hearst – on the contrary, she found their academic tête-à-têtes fascinating and could easily pass several hours in conversation with the history teacher – it was just that beneath his amiable façade, he was slowly but surely pursuing her, and it was trying even her unrelenting patience to endure his subtle but constant attentions.

Jane considered it a terrible shame that Mr. Hearst liked her _that_ way. Why couldn't he be as sensible in this matter as he was in many others? Whereas he was a handsome widower with prospects, she was a college-educated, spinster librarian in her thirties who had never been married (and, as most people in River City believed, she'd never even been courted); surely Mr. Hearst could see they were not a suitable match. And they could be such good friends, if he would only stop attempting to court her! He was a considerate, thoughtful and intelligent fellow; a wonderful conversationalist with the most mesmerizing deep brown eyes that gleamed and flashed when he was fervently arguing his point of view, even as his voice remained deceptively level. This was a man who got quieter rather than louder when he was angry; a man who expressed himself eloquently while retaining firm and enviable control of his temper. James Robert Hearst radiated both passion and refinement, his demeanor a pleasant and thought-provoking conundrum… and now Jane had to stop thinking like this, because her stomach was flip-flopping and her heart was fluttering, and she had to be completely composed when she walked through the double doors of Madison Public Library and beheld the history teacher sitting at his usual table in the corner, watching her quietly but steadily as she went about her business…

However, to the assistant librarian's shock, Mr. Hearst was nowhere to be seen today. Nor did he come to the library at any time during the course of the afternoon. Jane should have been relieved by this odd absence, but to her astonishment, she felt both concerned and irritated. Why hadn't he come? He ought to have dropped by for at least an hour – she expected him to after Miss Marian had informed her that Mr. Hearst was at the library earlier and gave her his kind regards before leaving – but his table remained maddeningly empty for the rest of the day. When the last patron left for the evening and the ladies went about the building setting things to rights, Jane did not dare remark even casually to Miss Marian on the history teacher's nonappearance, because the librarian had been regarding her with a suspiciously pensive expression ever since she'd passed along his greetings. Instead, the assistant librarian smiled blithely at her friend and employer and bade her a cheerful good evening. As Jane then proceeded to walk alone to her boarding house – which was run by a sweet and unassuming elderly lady who was nothing at all like her strict German proprietress of yore – she staunchly refused to brood any further on Mr. Hearst's whereabouts. Surely, the indefatigable history teacher would return to pester her with his attentions tomorrow!

But Mr. Hearst did not come to the library the next day, or the day after that. At first, Jane was troubled for legitimate reasons that would cause anyone to worry – what if something horrible had happened to him? – and found herself paying closer attention to the gossip mill than she ever had before. While she was relieved to learn that the history teacher was still alive and well, she was startled to discover that the River City-ziens were just as baffled as she was by his avoidance of Madison Public Library. But regular and sporadic patrons alike continued to leave Mr. Hearst's table empty, even after a third, fourth and then fifth day passed, and April turned into May without so much as a single visit from the man.

Jane tried to accept the history teacher's newfound forbearance as a right and proper matter of course, but to her chagrin, she couldn't stop thinking about him. Had it really been nine months since Mr. Hearst had come to River City? Try as she might, the assistant librarian could not recall the first time he'd stepped foot in Madison Public Library – nothing remarkable or noteworthy occurred on that occasion, unlike during her first meeting with William, a day she would fondly cherish for the rest of her life – but she had only been vaguely aware and not particularly interested in the history teacher's presence for at least a week or two before he struck up a conversation with her.

It began perfectly innocently: Jane was reshelving books in the modern languages section when she was abruptly but politely interrupted by the approach of a man who looked to be around her age but whose name she did not know. But her unfamiliarity was soon remedied; after introducing himself, Mr. Hearst explained that as the new history teacher, he was attempting to ascertain the extent of the library's collections, and he was having a bit of difficulty when it came to the ancient world. Ancient history was his specialty, and though he was unfailingly courteous in his inquiry, he was clearly flummoxed as to why the volumes for this particular subject were so spread out, instead of housed together in one section.

Even as Jane's curiosity was piqued – it wasn't often Madison Public Library received patrons who were scholars of the ancient world – she felt little more than polite interest. Admittedly, Mr. Hearst was a fine-looking man; his face was handsome and clean-shaven, his dark chestnut locks were rakishly parted to the side and combed into a slick wave along the line of his forehead, and his suit was modest but well-tailored to his lean frame. However, while his appearance was pleasing, there was nothing uncommon or striking about it; Mr. Hearst was handsome in a bland and undistinguished way, much like Dr. Strange had been. Likewise, his quietly affable demeanor further contributed to Jane's initial impressions that he was an agreeable but unremarkable fellow, congenial and intelligent, but ultimately, forgettable.

Still, the assistant librarian was nothing if not thorough in her duties; not only did she cheerfully and patiently explain to Mr. Hearst the rationale behind the dispersion of the ancient history section, she also took him around the library and showed him each and every aisle he could expect to find volumes on or relating to the subject. To her surprise, as well as amusement, Mr. Hearst had quite a bit to say about this arrangement, and was even so bold as to make a suggestion or two regarding consolidation of the collections. Yet Jane was not miffed by his critiques; on the contrary, she found herself relishing the opportunity for civil but spirited debate, and she began to appreciate that the unassuming history teacher had a far keener mind than she'd originally suspected. By the time she and Mr. Hearst reached the ancient languages aisle, they were deep in conversation and, even though Jane had given him the entire tour, they remained where they were and continued talking quite enthusiastically – a little _too_ enthusiastically as it turned out, for the library's patrons eventually issued them a collective, "Ssh!"

At that, the assistant librarian and history teacher quickly fell silent and shared a guilty but conspiratorial look. Strangely, Jane felt her cheeks crimson – especially when Mr. Hearst continued to smile sheepishly at her.

Before the pause could become too awkward, Jane briskly offered him her hand. "Forgive me for being remiss in my manners; I don't think I properly introduced myself: I'm Jane Edna Peabody." She had been so involved in their discussion that somehow, she had overlooked this crucial nicety!

At her confidently forthright gesture, the self-consciousness faded from the history teacher's expression. "I'm James Robert Hearst – Jim to my friends." He took her hand.

Jane immediately felt a familiar, alarming tingle run through her body at his touch. But perhaps this only happened because at the same time as they were shaking hands, their eyes fully met for the first time. And Jane was startled to discover that despite the history teacher's benign appearance, his gaze indicated that he was a man of passionate intensity and profundity; she was staggered by the depth of feeling in those dark brown eyes. She shivered; it wasn't fitting that a fellow who seemed so commonplace on the surface should have eyes that made a woman's heart quicken and stomach flutter in a way it hadn't for over a decade. Nor was it fair that his hand should be so delightfully warm and smooth as it gently but steadily clasped hers; even after their handshake concluded, neither seemed inclined to let go. And neither of them was smiling any longer; Jane's heart raced even faster when she observed that Mr. Hearst's expression displayed the same sense of stunned awe she felt radiating from her own countenance.

Fortunately, the history teacher finally lowered his gaze and demurred in a gentlemanly fashion, "Of course, I'm so new to town that I wouldn't expect anyone to call me by my old Gloriosa nickname." But then he looked up at her again, and Jane's heart, which was just beginning to slow into a more sedate pace, resumed its frenzied palpitations – especially when Mr. Hearst added with a small smile and meaningful gleam in his eyes, "At least – I wouldn't expect anyone to, yet."

All Jane could do was gape at him; unwillingly, she felt the familiar appellation rising to the tip of her tongue and could not open her mouth lest she betray herself. Because not only did she suddenly long to call him Jim, she wanted to whisper it softly into his ear, as the sweetest of endearments. In return, she imagined him calling her Jane in a heated, intimate voice as he buried his face in her curls and traced his mouth along the lines of her neck…

Jane yanked her hand out of Mr. Hearst's. "Most people call me Miss Peabody," she replied rather stiffly. This wasn't strictly true, of course, but she mustn't encourage further intimacy. It was far too dangerous for her to demonstrate anything more than the courteous but aloof façade she displayed to any man, even if he was one of her most avid and engaging library patrons.

"Yes, I've found River City-ziens are rather reserved," the history teacher concurred, sounding a bit wistful.

Jane's heart constricted at that, and her expression softened; clearly, Jim Hearst was a lonelier soul than his placid smile and affable nonchalance let on. "Indeed they can be, but I'm sure you'll eventually find that even though the River City-ziens are reserved on the surface, they're wonderfully warm and welcoming, once you get to know them." She paused. "I was once a newcomer, much like you."

To her relief, Mr. Hearst perked up noticeably at her words. "Were you indeed?" he said with real interest. "I'd love to hear more about River City from another outsider's point of view."

Though Jane couldn't help giving him a genuine smile in return, she knew it was unwise to be led into further conversation – at least for the time being. So she reverted to her previous detachment. "Well… that was a very long time ago. I've been a River City-zien for over ten years now. So I don't know how fresh my perspective would be, after having lived here for so long!"

Once again, the history teacher's eyes flashed with disappointment – but then the affable smile was back, turning his expression inscrutable as he nonchalantly demurred, "Yes, another time, perhaps. I still have a lot of work to do on my lesson plan for the upcoming school year, and I really must return to it. But I appreciate your taking the time to show me around the library, and for being so wonderfully tolerant of the impositions of a stranger."

At the mention of time, Jane's gaze wandered to the clock on the wall, and she gasped to see that they had passed over an hour in each other's company. Knocked even further off balance, she found herself blathering, "Oh, it was not at all an imposition! It's my job to provide assistance – after all, it's in my title, _assistant_ librarian. So by all means, if you need any more assistance finding books, you can ask for me at any time. Any time but Sundays and Fridays, that is. Sundays the library is closed, of course, so no one can help you that day. And Friday is my day off, so if you need anything on Fridays you'll have to talk to Mrs. Hill… " Realizing she had gone on for far too long, Jane finally trailed off. Inwardly, she chided herself for babbling such frivolous, simpering inanities; Mr. Hearst was sure to think she was flirting with him, and romantic interest was the exact opposite of what she hoped to convey!

Indeed, the history teacher was now regarding her with the look of a man who was wholly and irrevocably enchanted and, with a subtle but definite gleam in his eye, he replied, "I'll be certain to keep your schedule in mind, Miss Peabody."

It was time to end this conversation immediately, before she made an even bigger fool of herself. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hearst," she said briskly. "Good afternoon." Without waiting for a response, she turned and marched away, her step carefree but her hand and heart still tingling.

After that day, in his unobtrusive but persistent way, Jim Hearst began to pursue her. He did not make any declarations, flirt with her or attempt to kiss her, or even so much as touch her arm or her hand. Jane almost wished the mild-mannered history teacher had done these things; he'd have been a lot easier to rebuff. Instead, Mr. Hearst simply talked to her of intellectual matters in the same spirited but cordial fashion as he had during their first impromptu tête-à-tête. It all seemed so benign that the assistant librarian sometimes wondered if she was mistaken in her hunch that he had developed romantic feelings for her. But every now and then, she'd spy the history teacher surreptitiously watching her with a quiet but keen ardor in his eyes, and Jane was experienced enough to know that a man did not gaze with such intensity of feeling at a woman he considered a mere friend. There was also the indisputable fact that while Mr. Hearst had legitimate, curriculum-related reasons to visit the library often, he never came into the building on her days off, and as the months passed, he increasingly sought out her company to the point where Jane wondered if _she_ ought to broach the tempestuous subject!

Yet for all the history teacher lingered at the library, he seemed just as disinclined to reveal his true intentions as he'd been last August. It was almost as if he was waiting for her to give him some sign that she would welcome more forthright overtures of courtship. But this was something Jane steadfastly refused to do; after their disastrous first meeting, she had been scrupulously careful to avoid even the appearance of attraction, and not given him so much as the smallest inclination that she felt anything more than friendship in return. The assistant librarian steadfastly looked forward to the day when Mr. Hearst's ardor would finally fade, and the two of them could settle comfortably into a platonic companionship of intellectual discourse.

But as patient as the assistant librarian may be, the history teacher was proving even more so. Nine months had gone by, and he still seemed perfectly content to wait her out. Jane's tolerance, however, was fast approaching its limits. When men had pursued her in college, she was just as blithely aloof and they had given up quickly; she never had to maintain her unshakeable reserve for so long. It certainly didn't help matters that Mr. Hearst had the aggravating knack of knowing just how to get under her skin, exciting her mind with his philosophical ruminations and quickening her heart with his expressive eyes. Normally impervious to a man's physical charms – Jim Hearst was exactly the sort of clean-cut fellow she had once dismissed as too insipid and conventional for her tastes – Jane was slowly realizing that when he was near and those keen eyes were trained on her, she couldn't help reflecting he was a tremendously appealing fellow to look at. And the astonishing idea that such a handsome, intelligent and thoughtful man seemed determined to court _her_, the awkward, disheveled, spinster bluestocking, made her heart flutter crazily in a way it hadn't since William.

Yet Jane dismissed these palpitations as the effects of her own vanity. How could they be anything else? William Randall remained her ideal man, and while Jim Hearst had plenty to recommend himself, he could not be more different than the zoology professor in both looks and temperament. Jane remembered an afternoon in the middle of September when her sharp ears overheard a group of schoolboys scoffing about their new history teacher's docile demeanor, and she was annoyed enough to shush them sternly even though, in all fairness, they really hadn't been chattering loudly enough to merit such scolding. When the teenagers later sauntered out of the library with smug grins – they had not completed the reading assignment the assistant librarian knew was due the following morning – Jane privately wondered, with an unreasonably acute sense of disappointment, if Mr. Hearst possessed the gumption to maintain order in his classroom. No youth, no matter how impudent, would have dared to pull such a stunt with William!

But she need not have worried. The very next afternoon, Mr. Hearst arrived at the library with the group of schoolboys, who were now sporting thoroughly chastened expressions. As they sullenly but diligently copied each and every word of the twenty-page chapter on Mesopotamia they'd neglected to read the day before, the history teacher presided over the proceedings with the same good-natured smile he always wore – though he was quick to shoot a sharp glare at any boy who dared slacken the pace of his writing. Mr. Hearst may not have shouted at or whipped the rowdier teenagers in his care, but he was a rigorous teacher who was quick to correct insolence and sloth whenever it arose.

Regrettably, these were not the last students to learn the unpleasant consequences of failing to complete their homework in on time, but Jane was ridiculously and thoroughly delighted to learn that despite his unassuming manner, Mr. Hearst was anything but timid. His placid and affable exterior masked a firm and principled soul; he was a man who expected much of himself and his students, demanding that they always strive toward their fullest potential. While others might have been mildly surprised at this seemingly incongruous sentiment held by such a soft-spoken fellow, Jane thought it perfectly fitting when she later learned that the history teacher's personal motto was "excelsior." An admirable phrase for an admirable man – any woman in River City would have been flattered to receive the attentions of such a fine fellow!

If Jane had never been in love before, or even still in her twenties, she would have warmly welcomed Mr. Hearst's overtures. However, being older and wiser, the assistant librarian was not about to let another man into her life – despite the protests of her traitorous heart and her ever-increasing weariness at having to play the oblivious naïf. After her devastating experience with William, she was determined never to be a heartbroken "Jane Eyre" again.

Recognizing the dangers her sheltered upbringing had unwittingly led her into, Jane had read every book she could get her hands on in college, becoming an avid student of human nature and making it a point to observe and understand the behavior of people at every opportunity. Jane also refused to get too friendly with any young man, though she did meet a few fellows in college who demonstrated some interest in pursuing her. While she was not unfriendly and regarded her masculine peers with blithe smiles when engaging in conversation with them, she took great care to never make any remarks that could be construed as flirtations. Even if she had felt the faint glimmers of reciprocation a time or two, what did it matter? Jane was not the pink-cheeked, blonde-ringleted, perpetually giggling type the fellows ultimately favored, even if a few of them regarded her with a gleam of attentiveness before latching on to prettier and far more coquettish girls. No college youth had ever seriously considered conversing with plain Jane Peabody as more than the fleeting amusement of an hour or an afternoon and, even at the height of their half-hearted pursuits, no man had ever looked at her with half as much feeling as William did. William had gazed at her the same way Jane often observed Professor Hill looking at his wife – with a mingled expression of warmth, affection and longing.

At least, no man had ever looked at her that way until Jim Hearst.

But again, what did it matter? Mr. Hearst had been conspicuously absent from the library for nearly a week. At long last, even the tenacious history teacher had grown weary of getting absolutely nowhere with her, and had most likely decided to turn his attentions to a more willing woman on this beautiful, blooming May afternoon – the loveliest and most romantic time of year. Jane should have felt relieved that her ploy of deft evasion mingled with cheerful obfuscation had once again put off a potential suitor, but perversely, she discovered she was both disappointed and distraught that Jim Hearst had given up on her.

XXX

When Mr. Hearst finally did come back to the library – a full eight days after his last visit – Jane promptly muzzled the foolish grin that lit up her countenance the moment the history teacher walked in through the large double doors. However, she could not stifle the excited fluttering of her heart, which was urging her to go right over and cordially offer her usual assistance with the collections – especially when Mr. Hearst nodded a greeting at her with that wonderful, amiable smile of his. But because the assistant librarian had never been so forward, she stifled this inclination as well. There was no need for her to be overeager – surely, the history teacher would seek her out for a long chat at some point, as he always did. She should wait for him to get settled, at the very least!

When Mr. Hearst did indeed take a seat at his table in the corner, Jane was vastly relieved at the resumption of their usual routine. Normally upon arrival, the history teacher would work quietly for a half hour. Then he would stand up, stretch, and approach Jane with questions. More often than not, this would lead to the two of them spending the next several hours in conversation.

But today, the history teacher remained thoroughly engaged in his labors, and did not seem inclined to take a break any time soon. A solid hour passed, and then another, without him so much as glancing in the assistant librarian's direction. Even when Jane conspicuously busied herself with reshelving books in his area in a cunning effort to draw him out, he did not waver in his concentration on the task before him. Refusing to give up so easily, Jane worked as slowly as she possibly could, hoping that the temptation of her presence would encourage Mr. Hearst to at least _look_ at her. But eventually, the assistant librarian had put every last book away and, as her endeavors had borne no fruit whatsoever, she had little choice but to return to the main desk.

Jane tried to take comfort in the fact that Miss Marian was also working this morning; if she could not talk to Mr. Hearst, she could at least converse with her dearest friend. The librarian was presently setting up a new book display nearby – just the distraction Jane needed to take her mind off the vexingly aloof history teacher. So she hastened over to help. However, Jane must have looked a bit too crestfallen, because the librarian immediately gave her a concerned, inquisitive look upon her approach. At that, Jane quickly perked up her deflated countenance with a bright smile that had no real cheer behind it. Fortunately, it proved convincing enough; Miss Marian gave her a sunny smile in return, and the two women finished setting up the display with companionable ease. Unfortunately, Jane could not keep herself from surreptitiously sneaking glances at Mr. Hearst the entire time – and was thoroughly irritated to see he was still wholly buried in his work. _Exasperating fellow! Must he be so conscientious?_

After they had completed the display, the librarian and assistant librarian returned to the front desk and began tallying up the new entries required for the card catalog. Once matters were settled, Jane retrieved a stack of blank index cards and moved over to the typewriter. After informing her that she would be in the archives for a little while, Miss Marian turned toward the spiral staircase.

It was at that moment Mr. Hearst finally stood up from his seat and walked toward Jane. Their eyes met across the room and the assistant librarian smiled – and this time, her delight was genuine. She briefly considered rolling her eyes in good-natured annoyance as the history teacher approached – here he came to pester her for the next several hours, as usual! – but decided such a gesture would be too discourteous, even in jest. Instead, she arranged her features into an expression of pleasant but slightly disinterested nonchalance, regarding him exactly the same way she would any other patron who sought her out.

But to Jane's absolute shock, Mr. Hearst merely gave her a polite nod before veering toward Miss Marian. After the two exchanged genial greetings, the history teacher asked if she could show him where to find a book on Norse runes.

Jane's mouth fell open. What was Mr. Hearst thinking, asking Miss Marian to retrieve a book that was in the most out-of-the-way corner of the library? While the history teacher didn't seem to have any romantic designs on the librarian – his demeanor and tone of voice were perfectly benign as he made this inquiry – Jane didn't think it was at all appropriate for an unattached widower to be requesting such assistance from Miss Marian, who everyone knew was very happily married and a mother of three, besides. Mr. Hearst should have come to _her_ with such dicey questions!

To Jane's relief, Miss Marian did not offer to escort the history teacher to the ancient languages section. She merely told him the aisle such books were located in and then referred him to Jane, who she was certain would have been more than happy to look up the exact location for him. Even as Jane felt a flush of elated triumph at the knowledge that Mr. Hearst couldn't avoid seeking her assistance indefinitely, she frowned to see the suspicious twinkle in the librarian's eyes as she spoke. She never would have figured that her discreet and tactful Miss Marian was secretly the matchmaking type!

But then again, perhaps Jane was jumping to unwarranted conclusions; considering the matter from a purely logical standpoint, the assistant librarian was the best person to help Mr. Hearst in this instance, as she was presently working with the card catalog, whereas Miss Marian was on her way to the archives. So Jane quelled her displeasure, and waited for the history teacher to come over to the front desk.

However, although Mr. Hearst thanked Miss Marian for the suggestion and glanced over at Jane with a smile, he informed the two ladies that after nine months as a regular patron of Madison Public Library, it was high time he started learning his way around the sections on his own. And then, without further ado, he turned away from them both.

Once again, Jane's mouth dropped open in astonishment. As she watched Mr. Hearst walk up the spiral staircase, her stomach gave an unsettling lurch and tied itself into terrible knots. Had she been mistaken about Mr. Hearst's feelings the entire time? Perhaps he never had romantic intentions, after all…

Miss Marian should also have been heading upstairs, herself, as she had indicated she was planning to work in the archives for a little while. Instead, she was regarding her assistant with a vaguely worried look. "Are you feeling quite well, Jane?"

But Jane barely heard the words. Because no sooner than Mr. Hearst had reached the second floor, she was rushing up the spiral staircase after him. Yet it wasn't until they had both rounded the corner to the ancient languages aisle and were safely hidden from prying eyes that the assistant librarian called out to him in a brisk whisper,

"Good afternoon, Mr. Hearst!"

The history teacher, who was apparently so focused on scanning book titles that he hadn't heard her approach, jumped a little. But when he turned to face Jane, he regarded her with the same bland, affable smile as always. "Ah – Miss Peabody. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Suddenly, Jane felt tremendously awkward. What on earth had she been thinking, trailing after Mr. Hearst like an eager puppy? She should have remained in her spot at the front desk and waited for him to come to her – if he were so inclined. But it was too late to back down now. She had initiated contact and now the history teacher was looking expectantly at her; she had to say _something_.

"Oh – well – " the assistant librarian stammered, fidgeting and trying as best she could to ignore the sudden, intense heat radiating from her cheeks while she tried to come up with a respectable pretext for her unsolicited interruption. "Sometimes books go missing, so I thought you might require my assistance, after all. Norse runes are an obscure subject and outside the interest of most River City-ziens – we only have one such book in our entire collection." As she spoke, her fingers started to tremble too noticeably for comfort, so she clasped her hands tightly behind her back as she continued, "And since no one ever reads it, it would be all too easy for its disappearance to go unnoticed for weeks or even months. I'd hate for you to waste your valuable time searching fruitlessly, so I thought I'd save you the trouble of having to come all the way back down to the front desk if you did end up needing my help locating the volume."

For a moment, Mr. Hearst simply stared at Jane with an expression that was both amazed and bewildered, as if he wasn't quite sure what to make of her. Having run out of things to say, Jane squeezed her hands even tighter together and prayed that the history teacher would say something – anything! Even a teasing remark would be better than this awful, appraising silence.

"Well, that's awfully kind of you," he finally said. "But it appears the book I'm looking for is right here – " He reached over and plucked _Norse Runes_ off the shelf.

"So it is," Jane acknowledged. While she was grateful that Mr. Hearst was too much of a gentleman to call attention to her simpering foolishness even in jest, she knew he was also too clever not to notice her unusual behavior. Though the assistant librarian was notorious for being overly helpful when it came to locating reading materials for library patrons, this offer of assistance was _too_ suspiciously eager, even for her. And it did not help matters that Jane couldn't stop herself from looking keenly into Mr. Hearst's eyes, searching for even the slightest indication of warmth or interest. But to her disappointment, all she found was a strange, guarded glumness in the history teacher's gaze, an emotion that only seemed to deepen as she continued to stare at him – until he finally looked away.

"Thank you for your assistance, Miss Peabody," he said, his tone surprisingly nonchalant. "If I may, I would like to check this book out straightaway."

Now it was Jane's turn to gape. Normally, this would have been Mr. Hearst's cue to ask her for another book, or segue into one of their hours-long conversations. The history teacher always took advantage of the opportunity when they were ensconced in a quiet corner, and the ancient languages aisle would have been perfect for just such a tête-à-tête. He _never_ asked to check volumes out this early in the afternoon!

"May I help you find anything else? Surely, you must have a long list of books," Jane prompted in as cheerful a voice as she could muster, not about to let him off the hook.

Now she really had gone too far. Mr. Hearst's eyes snapped back to hers, and Jane's heart fluttered nervously as she realized that in all likelihood, she had been tricked, neatly and completely. The history teacher's aloofness was not an indication of disinterest, it was a ploy to draw her out and get her to reveal her true feelings for him (_But what, precisely, have you revealed?_ her mind insisted. _You aren't interested in forming a romantic attachment with Jim Hearst, or any other man!_). What else could explain his behavior?

But to Jane's shock, Mr. Hearst's expression was not that of a man who had finally triumphed in getting his object of desire to reciprocate flirtation. Instead, he looked intensely pained and perhaps even downright tortured, as if he was being pushed to the very limits of his endurance. The fury that had been welling up in the pit of her stomach completely evaporated, and Jane was left with a sinking feeling of a different kind.

_Imagine you are a man who has fallen in love_, a wiser voice whispered. _Imagine that the woman of your affections has politely but repeatedly rebuffed even your subtlest romantic overtures over the course of nine whole months. And then, when you sensibly stopped trying to court her, she attempted to provoke you into continued pursuit not because she loved you in return, but because she was lonely and selfishly enjoyed the way your attentions puffed up her vanity. What man would not be tortured by such callous behavior?_

Jane guiltily averted her eyes from Mr. Hearst's gaze, which had grown pensive and appraising once more. "Of course, I'm sure you know best how many books you actually need," she amended apologetically. "I'd be happy to check out _Norse Runes_ for you immediately."

"Thank you," he said in a quiet voice. Jane couldn't bring herself to look at the history teacher again, but she could clearly hear the disappointment in his tone. A lump came into her throat, and she swallowed vigorously as she escorted Mr. Hearst to the front desk. Fortunately, once they were downstairs and she had stamped the history teacher's book, they both seemed to have recovered their composure, and bade each other good afternoon as casually and courteously as they had always parted before.

But as Jane sadly watched Mr. Hearst exit the library without so much as a backward glance, she knew that his farewell had an element of finality to it that wasn't present previously. She had not just divested herself of a romantic suitor, but she had also lost a friend. Just as the history teacher had relinquished his romantic dreams, the assistant librarian was going to have to give up her hopes of the two of them settling into a benign and platonic companionship between intellectual equals.

Bereft of her masculine companion, Jane picked up an armload of books from the return cart and headed to the fiction section. Having gotten used to allotting a good portion of her afternoon to conversation, the assistant librarian was now going to have to find new ways to occupy the long hours that stretched out before her. As Jane reshelved the volumes, once again working as slowly as she could so she could fill as much time as possible, she tried to console herself by remembering William's heated glances. But somehow, she couldn't conjure up her lover's face. All she could think of was the ardent way Jim Hearst looked at her – or used to look at her. She'd always fancied she felt William hovering nearby, watching her fondly. And while Jane still believed he would always be with her, his presence no longer seemed so intense or immediate. Those two adjectives now seemed to apply solely to the man she couldn't stop thinking about, even though it seemed he was no longer inclined to court her.

She wondered what William would have to say about her rebuffing Mr. Hearst's attentions. After all, he had urged her to court other men. But she'd refused. None of the men she crossed paths with after William had ever stirred anything in her heart more than casual regard – or the thrill of vanity that arose from the knowledge of being desired, if only for a brief moment. And after experiencing such deep, passionate love with a Mr. Rochester, Jane wasn't about to settle for a marriage of placid convenience with a St. John – no matter how eligible a bachelor he may be.

But Jim Hearst was proving to be more than a mere St. John. The history teacher made her remember all those wistful, romantic hopes she used to cherish about getting married. But it was ridiculous for her to be feeling these girlish stirrings at all! She was solidly in her thirties and she hadn't felt such pangs for over a decade – shouldn't she be immune to such frivolous infatuations by now? Despite Jane's inward protestations that no man but William Randall had ever caused deep, romantic stirrings, she could no longer deny that her capricious heart was indeed fluttering for Jim Hearst.

"What am I to do?" the assistant librarian whispered, hoping for some answer to suddenly present itself, wishing for some small sign that the man she had loved was still watching. Just a glimmer of his presence, no matter how vague, was all she required. But nothing changed; the library remained maddeningly quiet and the atmosphere undisturbed. Dreary silence was all there was. Impatiently, Jane grabbed _Jane Eyre_ off the shelf and opened it at random:

_The month of courtship had wasted: its very last hours were being numbered. There was no putting off the day that advanced—the bridal day; and all preparations for its arrival were complete._

Jane shivered at the inexorable, foreboding tone of this sentence – the words seemed an ominous presentiment of what was to come for her, despite everything she had done to prevent getting ensnared in romantic entanglements. Perhaps _this_ was her sign from William or Providence… or both.

Thankfully, Jane's rational mind quickly reasserted itself, and she tutted at this uncalled-for upwelling of superstition. What was she thinking in her silly divination attempt? Would she seek a gypsy fortuneteller next?

Perhaps, at long last, it was time to have a talk with Miss Marian.

XXX

After an hour's sojourn in the archives, Marian returned to the front desk to find her assistant dutifully typing up the card catalog entries they'd discussed after setting up the new book display. However, although Jane worked as diligently as ever, her demeanor was anything but serene; her shoulders were slightly slumped and her fingers thumped on the keys a bit heavier than usual. And when Jane raised her head to greet the librarian with her usual bright rictus, there was a distinctly dejected look in her gaze that indicated for her, life had lost a good deal of its zest.

Recalling the scene she had witnessed earlier, Marian was certain she could guess the nature of her friend's dismay. But even if she hadn't been present to see Jane's impulsive dash after Mr. Hearst, she would have immediately recognized the disappointment and heartbreak in the younger woman's subdued expression for exactly what it was. Though the librarian remained supremely content with the wonderful way her own affairs had eventually turned out, she would never forget the stultifying sense of bleak hopelessness she felt before Harold Hill came to River City and shattered the staunch defenses she had erected around her heart. The music professor's audacious advances had been an uncomfortable and infuriating intrusion, but something that Marian had desperately needed in order to build the full and happy life she longed to achieve.

So as much as the librarian loathed interfering a second time in this delicate situation, things had progressed to the point where her conscience would no longer allow her to remain silent. Even if there was nothing she could do or say or to help ease her dearest friend with this burden, she was duty-bound to offer her assistance. Although Marian knew all too well that Jane was prone to withdrawing into the same aloof and impenetrable reserve as she was, and would likely rebuff her attempts to pry, she invited her to dinner that very evening.

However, to the librarian's astonishment, her assistant readily accepted this invitation. In fact, Jane seemed downright pleased to do so, as if she had been hoping for just such an opportunity. She even seemed to recover a little of her old spirit over the course of the next few hours, chattering merrily to Marian as the two of them closed the library for the evening and headed over to the charming Victorian.

Harold, of course, greeted his wife's dear friend with his usual charming warmth. Penny and Elly were likewise thrilled to see their beloved "Aunt" Jane, and insisted that she sit between them at the dining room table. Normally, Marian would not have allowed her outspoken daughters to impose so brazenly regarding the seating arrangements, but their earnest display of affection had a wonderful effect on the assistant librarian; for the first time that evening, her smile genuinely reached her eyes as she replied that she would be pleased to do as they wished. And when the girls clamored for a round of Parcheesi in the parlor after the meal was concluded, Marian almost relented to that as well. She could find plenty of time for the awkward conversation at a later date…

But to the librarian's surprise, Harold quickly intervened, giving the girls a dime apiece and telling them it would be an awful shame to waste such a nice spring evening indoors. Faced with the sudden prospect of a jaunt to the Candy Kitchen and being of an age where they preferred to partake of such activities _without_ their parents, Penny and Elly quickly skedaddled, before their mother could remind them that they needed to wash and dry the dinner dishes, as per their usual chores.

Yet Marian did not scold her husband for encouraging this evasion of responsibility; instead, she gave him a grateful smile. Though she did not relish the task before her, it was best not to procrastinate. With a knowing wink, Harold retreated to the music room and left the ladies to their business. But in between washing the dishes and attending to her infant son's nighttime ablutions, Marian was far too engrossed in her domestic responsibilities to broach the subject just yet, or even dwell on her steadily growing nervousness about the impending discussion. As ever, Jane assisted the librarian with admirable speed and efficiency, and the cleanup was accomplished in hardly any time at all. After the kitchen and dining room were set to rights, Marian and Jane went outside to sit on the front porch, a freshly changed and happily burbling baby Robert in tow.

"Of all the nights for him not to go down easily," Marian sighed as she placed her son in his bassinet and rocked it gently with her foot. When she had laid Robert in his crib and attempted to tiptoe out of the room, he whined and fussed and staunchly refused to settle. Exasperated at this latest disruption, and wondering if this was Providence's way of trying to thwart her intended confrontation, the librarian finally decided to take her son downstairs with them.

"It's all right – I don't mind him being out here with us," Jane said cheerfully. "He's a very sweet baby and a delight to have nearby."

Marian smiled in agreement with her friend's assessment – especially as Robert was already drifting off to sleep. Even at his most trying, her little angel was not nearly as demanding as the twins had been at that age. The librarian generally found it fortuitous to have been blessed with such an accommodating infant this time around, but tonight she was a little less enthusiastic than usual about the ease with which Robert dozed off in his bassinet. Because now, at long last, there was absolutely nothing keeping her from launching into the delicate discussion she'd been both planning and dreading for the last several hours.

But Marian had barely opened her mouth when Jane turned to her with a grave expression and said, "I need your advice, Miss Marian."

The librarian, who had been planning to segue into the subject through subtle and roundabout conversation, was knocked completely off balance by her friend's unexpected forthrightness. As a result, the careful phrases she had been planning to open with flew right out of her head, and she gaped at the younger woman in bewilderment. "You do?"

Jane began to tremble. "Yes… and I wish I had come to you before things had gotten so out of hand."

Quelling her sense of alarm as best she could, lest she frighten her dear friend into silence, Marian reached out and clasped Jane's hands in a soothing grip. "What happened?"

"Mr. Hearst has fallen in love with me," Jane said miserably.

Once again, the librarian had to stifle her natural response – but this time, it was the urge to burst into exasperated laughter. Jane had opened the conversation with such an ominous tone that Marian had been expecting to hear far worse developments. Apparently, the two of them had differing ideas regarding what constituted a crisis worthy of such distress! Her friend may not have been the dangerously naïve young woman she once was, but there were times her maidenly guile truly beggared belief. Was it really possible that all these long months, she had not suspected Mr. Hearst's feelings for her? Deciding Jane was not yet ready for her wholly candid assessment of the situation just yet, Marian merely observed, "I have noticed that he seeks out your company often – perhaps a little _too _often, even for a history teacher and avid library patron."

"Yes – all of River City has noticed how stuck on me Jim Hearst is, and they've been having a field day with it," Jane affirmed in disgust. "Horrid old gossips with nothing else better to occupy their time!"

Marian raised an eyebrow – it was not at all like her easy-going friend to lash out with such acrimony at River City's rumor mill. "That may be true," she sympathized, "but the only thing you can do is ignore them. Eventually, they'll lose interest and move on to something else."

"Not for a very long time," Jane said, her expression bleak. "Not after the way I ran up the spiral staircase after Mr. Hearst earlier today. Oh, why in heaven's name did I do such a silly thing?" she castigated herself aloud. "After months of scrupulous behavior that even the most scandal-minded person would be hard-pressed to construe as flirting, I've gone and made it look like I'm just as stuck on him, in return!" She looked beseechingly at the librarian. "Please, Miss Marian, isn't there anything I can do or even say to get myself out of this mess?"

Marian repressed a sigh – apparently, she _was_ fated to interfere directly in this affair. She would have preferred advising her distraught friend to simply continue ignoring the idle chatter until it finally faded away, but that would be taking the easy way out. The librarian knew Jane's character well enough to recognize that this normally unflappable woman was so flustered by all the hearsay not because it was false or fabricated, but because there was an uncomfortable truth in it that she did not wish to acknowledge.

But acknowledge it she must, or she would never make any real progress in moving past her malaise. Looking steadily at her friend, Marian asked, "Jane, have you developed feelings for Mr. Hearst?"

"I think I'm well on my way to falling in love with him," Jane confessed in a hushed voice, sounding dangerously close to tears. "But I don't _want_ to fall in love again – I couldn't survive another broken heart. Yet as much as I don't want to get so entangled, I can't seem to help encouraging Mr. Hearst's attentions, all the same." Once again, she looked pleadingly at her mentor. "So how do I arrest these feelings in their tracks, before I make an even bigger fool of myself?"

"I'm afraid there's no putting the water back, once the dam has burst," Marian said practically, even as she gave her friend's hands a sympathetic squeeze. "But why is it such a terrible thing that you return Mr. Hearst's feelings? There's nothing shameful or imprudent in encouraging the attentions of a man who is unattached, near your age, and shares several common interests! If you both like each other and there's no moral or legal impediment to courtship, what's keeping you from accepting his overtures?"

"A woman of my age and position has no business engaging in frivolity," Jane sniffed. "Mr. Hearst may wish to court, but that doesn't mean he's inclined to marry, and I refuse to engage in untoward activities that would jeopardize my standing as Madison Public Library's assistant librarian." She sighed angrily. "Before Jim Hearst came along, I was perfectly comfortable and content in the life I had built for myself as an independent woman. Of all the places in the world, why did he have to choose River City?"

This time, Marian did not bother to hide her smile – how often had she once expressed that exact same sentiment about Harold Hill? As Jane started to cry in earnest, she pulled her friend into a hug. "Dearest Jane, allowing yourself to be courted by a man is not going harm your reputation or put your job in danger. For one, I'm confident your behavior will be as irreproachable in courtship as it is in any other arena." She smoothed a few errant curls from her friend's flushed cheek. "Besides, times are changing for women. So even if you do get married someday, that doesn't necessarily mean you'll have to give up your position as our assistant librarian. If the trustees could accept my marriage all those years ago, they could certainly accommodate yours."

Jane sniffed again, and hiccoughed. "Even if everything you say is true, it doesn't matter anymore," she said, her tears still flowing freely. "Jim Hearst is no longer interested in pursuing me – not even as a friend!"

"Indeed?" Marian prompted gently. But she hardly needed to say anything, as Jane lost no time in sobbing out the story of what transpired between the two of them that afternoon. Apparently, Mr. Hearst was so wounded by her polite but constant rejection of even his subtlest advances that he decided to put an end to their fraternization entirely – even to the point where he avoided seeking her assistance with navigating the collections. "Not only did Jim Hearst spurn my attempts at friendship, he couldn't even bear to approach me simply as a library patron," Jane wept, disconsolate. "He _despises_ me now."

Marian had indeed noticed that Mr. Hearst went out of his way to avoid crossing paths with her assistant today. However, to her more-experienced perspective, this did not indicate loathing on his part, but rather the actions of a man who was trying to protect himself from the sting of unrequited love as best he could. "I don't think that's the case at all," the librarian carefully countered. "I do think, however, that it's no longer possible for the two of you to go on as platonic companions."

Jane twitched irritably in the librarian's embrace, but did not reply.

Marian kissed her on the forehead. "You wanted my advice, Jane, so here it is: You're going to have to make a difficult decision. Would you rather court Mr. Hearst, accepting both the risk and reward that romance entails, or would you rather not have him in your life at all?"

Jane twitched again, and pulled herself out of the librarian's hug. "I'd rather have him in my life – but as my _friend_." Tugging a handkerchief from her pocket, she crossly dabbed at the corners of her still-leaking eyes. "Why can't he be sensible about this, and accept that friendship is all I can give him?"

Recalling her previous conversation with Mr. Hearst, in which he revealed the true depth of his longing, Marian could understand the history teacher's sense of privation. But how could she possibly convey this truth to Jane, who could not or perhaps refused to understand that sometimes, feelings cut too deep for such outcomes? There was only one thing the librarian could say that might have the desired effect, but as it also had the potential to backfire and compound her friend's pain, she had been trying to avoid going down that road. But Jane was being so determinedly obtuse that she had run out of gentler options. Giving the younger woman a shrewd look, Marian softly asked, "Could you and William have just remained friends?"

Jane's shoulders slumped. "No," she finally admitted. "And if Jim Hearst's feelings are so strong that he can't settle for friendship alone, I suppose it would be unfair of me to expect it of him."

Pleased that her dear friend not only took the question remarkably well, she also saw the sense in it, Marian continued, "Perhaps you are capable of making a little more room in your heart for Jim Hearst than you think. And," she added, beaming down at the beautiful son she and Harold never expected to have, "if I'm not too old for happy, life-altering surprises, you certainly aren't!"

"I suppose," Jane allowed, though she did not look entirely convinced.

Thinking it best to bring the discussion to a close at this point, Marian turned the conversation to lighter matters. Although Jane made a valiant effort to resume her usual lighthearted demeanor, it was clear she remained preoccupied, and politely took her leave only fifteen minutes later.

As Marian stared pensively down the road, watching her friend depart, she felt a warm pair of arms wrap around her waist, and a soft kiss was dropped on the nape of her neck.

"So my dear little librarian, how is our poor, pining Miss Peabody doing these days?"

Marian laughed, somehow not surprised that her observant husband had picked up on Jane's state of confusion. "She's still not happy about the situation, but at least she's no longer in denial of her own feelings."

Harold chuckled. "Talked some sense into her, did you? Well played, Madam Librarian. I couldn't have done a better job working Cupid's magic on Jane Peabody and Jim Hearst, myself!"

"What?" Marian scoffed. "I only want to maintain order in my library. And now that I've talked to the two of them, I'm going to step back and let things take their natural course, whatever that may be. It was never my intent to play matchmaker!"

"That's a real shame," Harold said teasingly. "Take it from a man who's played matchmaker many times before – you have natural flair for it."

Twisting around to face her husband, Marian tried to swat him, but he pulled her tight against him and kissed her until her giggles faded and she was clinging to him as longingly as he clung to her.

"Robert's fast asleep, and the girls won't be home for at least another hour," Harold said in a husky voice when their mouths finally parted. "So what say we bring our son up to his crib and then go to bed, ourselves? All this talk of love and matchmaking has put me in the mood for a little canoodling… "

Marian arched an eyebrow at her ever-amorous husband. "A _little_ canoodling?"

Harold grinned. "Fine – a long, heated, decadent frenzy of lovemaking that leaves us gasping in tangled sheets, if you insist on my being one hundred percent accurate."

"I do – in both word and deed," Marian said with a sly smile. Capturing his lips in a quick but heated kiss, she extricated herself from her husband's embrace and carefully eased Robert out of his bassinet. Fortunately, he barely twitched at this disturbance. And though he stirred a little more when his parents placed him in his proper bed, he did not wake up.

As Harold eagerly pulled his wife toward their bedroom, covering her neck with delicious kisses all along the way, she couldn't help wondering if he was right on the mark about her instincts for matchmaking. Because Marian suddenly had the premonition that Mr. Hearst was not quite resolved to give up on the woman he loved just yet, and that Jane would someday come to know the same joy she was currently experiencing.

XXX

That night, for the first time she could recall, Jane dreamed about Mr. Hearst. She didn't realize it was a dream, at first; all she knew was that she had rounded the corner of the ancient languages section one quiet afternoon, and came upon the history teacher standing in the middle of the aisle. Somehow, it did not occur to the assistant librarian to pose the question even to herself how he managed to get all the way up here without her seeing him. Nor did it occur to her to wonder why the stack of books she had been carrying had suddenly vanished from her hands. All that mattered was that Jim Hearst had come back to the library, and she beamed at him in sheer delight.

Not only did the history teacher smile warmly at her in return, he marched over, cupped her face in his hands, and moved in for a kiss that left her with no doubt he had changed his mind about ending their association.

"Where have you been?" he teased when their lips finally parted. "I've been waiting for you all afternoon."

Jane blushed as she suddenly remembered that she had indeed planned a rendezvous with him. "I'm sorry I'm late."

Mr. Hearst gave her the yearning look that always made her heart flutter. "It doesn't matter," he said, caressing her cheek with his thumb. "You're here now."

His mouth covered hers once more, and she melted into his embrace. An interminable interval passed between them as he gave her one long, sweet kiss after another. Jane's head began to spin, and she clung to her lover to keep herself from swooning. Though he whispered no heated blandishments in her ear, she reveled in what his lips _weren't _saying: despite her foolishness in not recognizing her true feelings for so long, and despite her being a spinster bluestocking who was long past her prime (if, indeed, she'd ever had a "prime" at all), Jim Hearst loved her and wanted to be with her. For the first time in ages, Jane felt that God was indeed in heaven and all was right with the world…

And then the assistant librarian's alarm went off, abruptly yanking her from sleep. For the first time in her life, Jane picked up the poor and rather undeserving clock and hurled it across the room as hard as she could. Yet it proved to be a sturdy little thing, merely bouncing off the solid oak door of her armoire and clattering to the floor, where it continued to ring shrilly.

Still bleary-eyed and reeling from the disappointment that her lovely reconciliation with Jim Hearst hadn't really happened, Jane stumbled out of bed and crossly hit at the alarm until it sputtered into silence. "Oh, shut up, you stupid thing!"

Though the assistant librarian had made an unusual amount of commotion that morning, there was fortunately no danger of her being scolded for it. In addition to her boarding house being run by an unassuming and unobtrusive little old lady, the other residents were the type of people who tended to mind their own affairs. Not only that, everyone was also quite familiar with Jane's propensity for the occasional, noisy fit of clumsiness. So the only questions she would have to weather at the breakfast table were concerned (and perhaps slightly amused) inquiries as to whether or not she'd managed to injure herself during her latest peccadillo.

That is, if she even bothered to show up for the morning meal at all. As ever, Jane could never stomach food when her heart was troubled. To compound her unhappiness, Miss Marian was not scheduled to work at all, and given that the sun was shining and the weather was warm, Madison Public Library was likely to be a lot emptier than usual. The prospect of a long, lonely day stretched out ahead of her and, in a first for her since she'd come to River City, the assistant librarian dreaded the prospect of going to work. Without even the idle chatter of patrons to distract her, Jane would have plenty of time to reflect that Mr. Hearst did not love her, he refused to remain her friend, and he wasn't going to be coming back to the library anytime soon.

As the assistant librarian plodded inexorably toward her place of employment, she wasn't sure whether she felt worse being lovelorn in Ames or in River City. In Ames, she'd had no friends but William, so even as she keenly wished for a confidante, she'd taken slim comfort in the fact that no one took it upon themselves to stick their nose into her misery. But in River City, Jane had a multitude of friends and acquaintances who gave her sunny smiles as she passed, and while she was grateful to have so many people who cared about her well-being at least superficially, seeking consolation or sympathy from anyone but Miss Marian was out of the question. The dull ache Jane never thought to experience again had settled over her soul, and she found it tremendously difficult to smile cheerfully at all the passerby in return.

Yet there was also something new in her pain this time around. Because her romance with William was doomed before it even began, Jane had merely felt the bleak but resigned despair of a woman who always knew there was no hope of living happily ever after with the man she loved. But losing the wonderful and available Jim Hearst was a much bitterer pill to swallow; the only reason he'd broken off contact with her was because she had slowly but surely driven him away. And if she hadn't been such a blind and stubborn fool, that tender dream embrace she'd shared with him in the ancient languages section could have been in her future.

Still, Jane was nothing if not diligent, and whiled away the hours in various administrative and organizational tasks. So the morning passed more swiftly than she initially thought it would. However, just as she'd predicted, there were only a handful of patrons that day, and by the time two o'clock arrived, the assistant librarian had completely run out of work to do. Time began to weigh far more heavily upon her, and Jane once again felt the history teacher's absence keenly. What on earth had she filled her afternoons with before Mr. Hearst came to town?

Jane briefly toyed with the idea of closing the library early, but as she wasn't sure Miss Marian would approve, she ultimately decided against this course of action. The next best option, which was still rather unprofessional but better than staring at the walls for the next several hours, was to take a book off the shelf and do a little reading, herself. As the assistant librarian had never actually gotten around to perusing Giacomo Casanova's memoirs, which had scandalized and thrilled generations of River City's strait-laced teenage girls, she decided she might as well see what all the fuss was about and, after retrieving the book from its shelf, sat down at a table to read.

Although Jane found herself appreciating the honesty and intelligence of the narrator – she could certainly understand why the book had so many avid readers – she wasn't altogether sure she liked this suave and perhaps too-cunning seducer, when all was said and done. But she didn't regret her selection in the least, as Casanova's memoirs provided a welcome and thought-provoking diversion that made the afternoon fly by.

A half hour before the library was due to close for the evening, Jane roused herself from the volume and assessed her surroundings. Although Madison Public Library had only entertained a small handful of patrons that day, the amount of the books on the return cart was greater than the assistant librarian expected. She hadn't bothered to keep up with the returns at all, thinking it would be best to save herself a task to do that would make the ennui of the remaining hour more bearable. However, Jane was now so engrossed in her reading that she was sorely tempted to leave the books where they were until tomorrow. Unfortunately, she couldn't do that, because Miss Marian was going to be working the following morning, and she would not approve of such disorder left overnight. So it was time to get to it right away, or Jane would be late closing up, and the last thing she wanted was to be cooped up in these stuffy surroundings for any longer than necessary!

With a sigh, the assistant librarian stood up and headed over to the book-return cart, reflecting that at least she would have some company tomorrow. And surely, she would eventually recover her zest for her work, just as she had managed to build herself a full and happy life after losing William.

As Jane loaded the book dumbwaiter and tugged on the rope, one of the library's double doors swung open. The warm, perfumed breeze of a beautiful May evening washed over her. Though the disturbance was an unwelcome one that would no doubt make more work for her at an inopportune time, the assistant librarian couldn't help smiling as she breathed in the fresh air. As soon as she dispatched this patron with all speed and finished reshelving the volumes – who in heaven's name had decided to pay a visit to the library on such a lovely night? – she was going to treat herself to a long, leisurely stroll, and perhaps even a chocolate malted at the Candy Kitchen.

"May I help you?" she inquired, her tone polite but a touch cooler than usual. For good measure, she also made a point of watching the dumbwaiter's ascent to the second floor and then glancing at the clock on the wall before turning toward the entrance.

Jim Hearst stood before her, smiling as affably as ever. "Good evening, Miss Peabody."

Jane's heart flip-flopped – of all the patrons she'd expected to see, he was last on the list. "Mr. Hearst!" she sputtered, rather inelegantly.

Thankfully, the history teacher took her discomfited surprise in stride. "I'm sorry to be a nuisance so near to closing time," he said apologetically, "but I don't have a single book on Egyptian hieroglyphs, and I need one for my class tomorrow."

Jane nodded. "That's easy enough to find," she said brightly – perhaps a little too brightly, but she couldn't help herself. Not only was Mr. Hearst giving her that adorable smile, he looked especially handsome tonight. At first, she couldn't quite put her finger on why that would be so, as the history teacher had always been a well-groomed man. But to her eyes, he looked suspiciously polished and clean-shaven for so late in the day.

Suddenly, Jane realized with a jolt that she had only ever seen Mr. Hearst wear that smart, three-piece tweed suit at church on Sundays. At first, she wasn't sure whether to be flattered or annoyed that he took so much care with his appearance. While the implications of such painstaking grooming on his part were exhilarating to contemplate, the assistant librarian could not live up to such refinement in her plain, gray-blue flannel ensemble and workaday coiffure, which was of course disheveled by now – she was hardly a scrumptious sight to tempt a potential suitor!

However, if the history teacher took issue at the assistant librarian's less-than-stunning appearance, neither his tone nor his expression indicated it. Seemingly oblivious to the strange tableau they would have presented to outside observers, Mr. Hearst blithely continued to stand there making small talk with her, his demeanor as cordial and chatty as if yesterday had never happened. Swallowing her sense of pique – though she may be overshadowed in dress, she refused to let self-consciousness dull her tongue – Jane more than held up her own end of the conversation. In fact, she was so engrossed in their discussion that she did not realize closing time had come and gone until Mr. Hearst spied Casanova's memoirs still lying on the table, and picked the book up.

"Ah – Giacomo Casanova," he said with a sense of recognition that sounded almost amused.

"As you can probably imagine, it's one of our most popular selections," Jane said with a laugh. "Have you read it?"

"Not recently," Mr. Hearst replied. "Not since I was a college undergraduate, at any rate." His eyes twinkled and he smiled enigmatically, as if at some private jest or recollection.

With another jolt, Jane suddenly remembered everything she'd read about the art of seduction that afternoon. Casanova had subtly and cleverly spun enticing webs around prospective paramours until, overcome with longing, they willingly allowed themselves to be ensnared in his glittering nets. The assistant librarian regarded her would-be suitor with an appraising look; even though Mr. Hearst was familiar with Casanova's writings, was it reasonable to outright conclude he was an adherent of the man's candid but underhanded philosophy when it came to lovemaking? Certainly, Jane could not deny that the history teacher was more than capable of such cunning – while he was mild-mannered enough on the surface, he had demonstrated on more than one occasion the keen and active mind he possessed beneath that genial gaze. Perhaps Mr. Hearst's sudden and prolonged disappearance from the library was not the hapless withdrawal of a lovelorn suitor, as she initially surmised, but the carefully calculated retreat of a seducer attempting to draw out the object of his affections.

If it was indeed the latter, Jane had neatly fallen into his trap. For a split second, she was furious at herself for her shocking lapse of sense. How could she have thought this scheming man a worthy successor to William, who was upright to a fault and honest to the point of bluntness? William would never have played havoc with her feelings as Jim Hearst did – when _he_ pretended not to care, he was trying to protect her. She ought to tell the history teacher off for such devious conniving!

But Jane did not do that. Instead, she abruptly interrupted Mr. Hearst mid-sentence and told him that as it was getting terribly late, she really needed to finish reshelving her books.

"Yes, of course," he said understandingly. As he handed her Casanova's memoirs, the tips of his fingers brushed hers and, even though Jane suspected this gesture was entirely intentional on the history teacher's part, she couldn't deny how much she liked the delightfully woozy effect his touch provoked in her. And when Mr. Hearst followed her up the spiral staircase, she did not rebuff his attempts to resume their usual spirited tête-à-tête. Although Jane once fancied herself impenetrable as stone when it came to romantic overtures, the history teacher could easily be likened to a steady, powerful river – water was the one thing that could alter such inexorable geological barriers. And to make matters worse, her pursuer seemed to sense the weakening of her resolve; tonight, there was an extra intensity in his words and glances, although on the surface he remained as pleasant and polite as ever. _But that's exactly the way the game is played, isn't it?_ she reflected wryly. _Maintain an impeccable façade of innocence until one is close enough to strike!_

Still, if Mr. Hearst was expecting her to simply fall into his arms after all the grief he'd put her through this past week, he was thoroughly mistaken. While Jane may no longer have possessed the gumption or inclination to deter his advances, she certainly wasn't going to throw herself at him! Not even when he steadily inched closer to her as they traversed the stacks, until he was near enough to wind his arm around her waist as they walked, if he was so inclined.

Though he'd never attempted such a ploy before, Jane was too smart to fall for this trick at her age – even if the history teacher's close proximity was muddling her senses. In the narrow aisles, she could find no pretense to sidle away, nor did she have the grace to attempt such a deft maneuver. So out of an avid and reckless sense of curiosity, the assistant librarian allowed him to move as near to her as he pleased. Perversely, Jane wished she could somehow find a moment to discreetly smooth her mussed hair before the history teacher inevitably made his move. But then again, what did it matter? If the evening ended up going the way she surmised, her tresses would only end up even more disheveled than they already were. For as she'd learned from her past encounters with amour, exchanging kisses with a man made her boisterous curls look as if they'd been through a windstorm.

Yet even after Jane put the final book away and her hands were completely empty, Mr. Hearst did not try to press his advantage and embrace her. Though he walked closer to her than was strictly necessary as she escorted him to the out-of-the-way corner containing the library's books on Egyptian hieroglyphs, he continued to maintain the veneer of propriety through pleasant conversation. And though Jane was now thoroughly flustered by all that remained unspoken between them, she did her best to appear just as calm, cool and collected as the history teacher seemed to be.

But as ever when she was rattled, she could not maintain flawless poise in all arenas. When Jane selected a few of her favorite tomes on Egyptian hieroglyphs and turned to present them to Mr. Hearst for perusal, she banged her elbow on the edge of the shelf.

"Ouch!" she yelped, dropping the books and grabbing her arm.

"Jane!" Mr. Hearst exclaimed, his handsome face darkening with concern. "Are you all right?"

His impassioned reaction was so natural and sincere that it didn't immediately register he'd called her by her Christian name. Besides, Jane was in too much agony for such discernment; her elbow was throbbing, and she gritted her teeth as she waited for the pain to subside.

"May I?" Mr. Hearst inquired gently, extending his hands toward her. At her nod, he gently lifted her arm and, cradling her elbow tenderly in his hands, he examined it with a furrowed brow.

"Is it bleeding?" she asked, still wincing.

He smiled. "Fortunately, no. It's only a little scraped and red. There are no slivers, but you might have a bruise tomorrow."

Jane let out an exasperated but good-natured sigh as he let go of her arm and the pain began to ebb. "Oh, I'm used to bruises," she assured him. As clumsy as she was, they couldn't be helped!

Letting out a cough that sounded suspiciously like muffled laughter, Mr. Hearst bent to pick up the books she'd unceremoniously dropped. "I'd like to check these volumes out – they'll do just nicely."

The assistant librarian goggled at him. "You haven't even looked at them yet!"

He smiled at her. "I trust your judgment completely."

As the history teacher handed over the volumes, their fingers touched again. This time, they both froze, and their eyes met. Mr. Hearst now looked as conflicted as she presently felt. Jane suddenly realized that whatever his methods, his attraction to her was more honorable than she had initially given him credit for; he looked like he desperately wanted to kiss her, but didn't dare. Not even when they were alone together in this secluded corner – the only two people in the entire building. Not even when her own countenance was radiating the same passionate longing in return. But Jane didn't avert her gaze or turn away in embarrassment. Her heart had finally gotten the better of her, and she was tired of fighting whatever this was between them.

Apparently, it wasn't a battle Mr. Hearst could win, either. "Jane… " he whispered in complete and total surrender, craning his head and moving closer to her. Just as William had done, all those years ago…

The books between them trembled as his warm hands slid over hers. Even as her mouth parted slightly and she tilted her head to welcome the history teacher's kiss, Jane wondered, was she really ready for this? But whether she was or not, she had dreamed of this moment, and she wasn't about to stop it – even if her knees were growing alarmingly weak. Hopefully, Jim Hearst's embrace would prove to be just as fiercely effective in arresting her swoon…

But to Jane's astonishment – and chagrin – he did not kiss her, after all. In a swift, agile motion, the history teacher tightened his own grip on the volumes while winding a steadying arm around the assistant librarian's waist and bringing her to rest snugly against his side.

"Are you sure you're feeling all right?" Mr. Hearst insisted. His breath stirred her curls, making her shiver again.

"Just a little tired, I think," she said shakily, stammering any excuse she could think of. "And it's awfully stuffy in here, on such a warm night."

"Indeed, it is," he agreed. Jane heard the smile in his voice, but she had lost her nerve, and no longer dared to look into his eyes. Not when they were standing so close together. And not when he was breathing just as heavily as she was. It wasn't until he released her waist and took a step back that she met his gaze again – and was stunned to see that he had not only recovered his unruffled equanimity, he was also regarding her with his usual affable grin.

"Shall I check out your books, now?" she asked awkwardly, seizing on the only polite topic of conversation left to them.

"That would be wonderful," he smoothly concurred. But then his smile wavered precariously and he nervously cleared his throat. "And Jane… perhaps you'd like to come with me to the Candy Kitchen, afterward? I'd be pleased to treat you to the confection of your choice."

At first, Jane could only gape at Mr. Hearst. What strange new maneuver was this supposed to be? While asking her on this outing was an unmistakably romantic advance on his part, it was an awfully roundabout way to resume his subtle but passionate pursuit. He'd had her completely in his thrall just a few moments ago – he could have kissed her as he steadied her, instead of just doing the latter. In fact, he probably could have kissed her now and met with no resistance! Why _hadn't_ he kissed her? Then again, the history teacher was not a hasty man; it had taken him nine whole months to even work up to this point. And Jane had indeed been craving a chocolate malted this evening. So she accepted his invitation.

After Jane stamped the two books on Egyptian hieroglyphs, Mr. Hearst asked if it would be possible to keep them at the front desk overnight, and he would stop by to pick them up bright and early tomorrow morning before school started. Even though this request seemed rather innocuous, the assistant librarian's heart flip-flopped again. If the meticulous history teacher was that concerned about losing track of the volumes entrusted to his care, perhaps he had a far more eventful evening in mind than just a short jaunt to the Candy Kitchen…

Or perhaps it was simply a matter of practicality. Mr. Hearst hadn't brought his satchel with him this evening (a surprisingly negligent omission that lent even greater credence to the assistant librarian's suspicions that the history teacher's need for books wasn't so pressing as he'd made it sound), and ferrying the two large and rather unwieldy volumes about town could prove difficult. For one, the tomes would have taken up an entire seat of their own at the confectionary's small tables. And given that Jane was already causing enough of a stir among passerby due to the fact that she was strolling arm in arm with Mr. Hearst down Center Street – he had promptly offered her his arm after she'd locked the library doors, and it would have been terribly churlish of her to refuse such gallantry – she did not need any trappings that would call additional attention to the two of them!

Jane did her best to remain determinedly oblivious to the eager looks cast in their direction and excited buzzing that surrounded them, but the situation was getting so terribly awkward as to be unbearable. What was Jim Hearst thinking, parading her before the gossip-greedy River City-ziens? Every now and then, she glanced and the history teacher out of the corner of her eyes to gauge his reaction to the atmosphere, and was irked to see that not only was he _not_ sneaking looks at her in return, his expression was impeccably serene, as if he didn't have a care in the world. Nor did he attempt to talk to her; he seemed perfectly content to simply enjoy the silence and the warm spring breezes as they walked along.

Jane sighed. Some date this was turning out to be!

Mr. Hearst promptly regarded her with concerned eyes. "Are you feeling all right, Jane? I don't mean to insult, but you're looking quite flushed."

Once again, she wasn't sure whether to be flattered or annoyed by his perceptiveness. "It's merely the heat," she assured him. "I'll be fine once I've had something cool to drink."

He nodded and turned away again – but at the same time, he tugged her slightly closer to him, and in a manner that was so sweetly protective that Jane's cheeks crimsoned even more. Mr. Hearst may not have been as physically demonstrative or as bold in his romantic gestures as Professor Hill famously was, but it was clear he was not the indifferent soul he often appeared to be.

Fortunately, the assistant librarian and history teacher arrived at the Candy Kitchen without further incident and, as the confectionary was populated mainly by dreamy-eyed teenaged youths who were far more intent on mooning at their own beaus instead of eavesdropping on the couples around them, their entrance caused far less of a fuss than Jane would have predicted. And when Mr. Hearst smoothly but speedily guided her to a table in an out-of-the-way corner, the patrons of the establishment forgot about their presence entirely.

As the history teacher proceeded to the front counter to procure refreshments for the two of them, Jane took the opportunity to smooth her curls into place, as well as brush a few wrinkles from her blouse and skirt. A sudden eruption of girlish giggling made her jump and turn – was she being observed, after all? – but as it turned out, the perpetrators of the high-pitched twittering were cozily ensconced at a table and not even looking in her direction. Smiling and shaking her head at her jitteriness, Jane turned back to her table – only to catch Jim Hearst beaming fondly at her as he waited for Ed Langford to finish making their malteds.

Despite the thrill the history teacher's ardent glance sent through her, Jane was too flustered to do anything but blush and avert her gaze. She kept her eyes resolutely glued to the table from then on, and when Mr. Hearst placed a large chocolate malted before her a few moments later, she mumbled a hasty "thank you" and eagerly seized on this new distraction.

Mercifully, he didn't attempt to fill the silence or provoke her into speech. Instead, the history teacher likewise started in on his own malted (the assistant librarian sneaked a glance at his glass and noted with interest that his was strawberry).

Yet as Jane gradually recovered her composure, she began to find the silence even more nerve-wracking than Mr. Hearst's earlier heated gaze. The suspense was starting to weigh too heavily on her for comfort; any moment, he was sure to make his move. Perhaps he was simply waiting for her to look up at him…

Her anticipation overcoming her apprehension, Jane did just that. And she was crestfallen to see that the history teacher was gazing serenely downward at his malted.

Irked at Mr. Hearst's inattention to her person, she quickly lowered her eyes back to her own confection. Although she continued to sneak glances at the history teacher, the line of his gaze remained unchanged. And although his expression was placid as ever, there was something intangibly tense about his overall demeanor that led Jane to suspect this nonchalance was more studied than natural. He was being purposely standoffish, and she had a hunch she knew why: to draw her out again. And here _she_ was, growing increasingly impatient to succumb to his advances! Truly, the man was as deviously cunning a seducer as Casanova himself.

_But after nine months of constant rejection, can you really blame him for such careful circumspection? _scolded the part of her that longed to feel Jim Hearst's arms around her waist and mouth covering hers._ Being a shrinking violet is not going to encourage him to indicate his interest. If you don't want to chase him away again, you're going to have to do a little flirting!_

But after more than a decade of assiduously avoiding such devices as sly, sideways smiles and romantically charged banter, the strait-laced assistant librarian didn't know where to begin. And she still wasn't altogether sure it was the wisest of ideas to encourage a man who'd expressed veiled admiration for the unrepentantly Sybaritic teachings of Giacomo Casanova. Perhaps she shouldn't have allowed herself to be wheedled into this date…

_Oh, for heaven's sake – would you at least talk to him? After all, he did treat you to a malted!_

Jane's eyes narrowed. She'd talk to him, all right. Holding her head upright and clearing her throat, she launched right into conversation. "I was just mulling over a line I came across this afternoon: 'A man who makes known his love by words is a fool.' Since you've also read Casanova's memoirs, I was wondering what your opinion was of his assertion."

Mr. Hearst's eyes widened in surprise and his affable smile wavered slightly, and Jane was pleased to have knocked him off balance. Provoke _her _into making the next move, would he? She felt even more triumphant when the history teacher lowered his eyes for a moment, ostensibly to give the matter thought. But she surmised it was more likely that he was reassessing his next maneuver, now that she had let him know she was on to the little game he was attempting to play with her.

However, when Mr. Hearst looked up again, his expression was as earnestly pensive as it ever was when they were engaged in academic debate. "I believe a man ought to have the courage of his convictions to clearly and unequivocally state his position on such important matters." He smiled the same wryly amused smile that had unsettled Jane earlier. "Giacomo Casanova might have been a charming man and an intelligent thinker, but he always struck me as a bit of a disingenuous rake, for all his proclamations that he passionately loved the truth."

At first, Jane wasn't sure what to make of the history teacher's statement – until she realized he had just given her invaluable ammunition. If indeed that was his genuine opinion on the matter, he would surely declare his feelings without too much additional prompting from her. Especially if Miss Marian was right in her supposition that Mr. Hearst's feelings for her were too strong for him to settle for mere friendship!

However, the assistant librarian's burgeoning sense of vindication dissipated when the two of them finished the final sips of their malteds, and he politely offered to escort her home.

Jane's mouth dropped open in astonishment, and the straw fell away from her lips. "So soon?" she protested, too flabbergasted to even attempt a nonchalant retort. "It's not even nine o'clock yet!"

Mr. Hearst smiled ruefully. "True, but it _is_ a school night."

Over the years, Jane had gotten much better at keeping herself from imprudently blurting out her true feelings whenever her emotions got the better of her. But after so many months of disavowal, she could no longer hold back. Glaring at the man who had finally shattered her protracted patience, she asked him point-blank: "And just when are you planning to declare yourself?"

Now it was Mr. Hearst's turn to gape. "Pardon me?" he stammered, looking utterly bewildered.

As Miss Marian had said the previous night, there was no putting the water back once the dam had burst: "Since our almost-kiss in the library and your subsequent invitation to the Candy Kitchen, I've been waiting all evening for you to make another advance – brush your fingers against mine, pay me flattering compliments, or even just make idle conversation. But you haven't so much as looked at me since we sat down at this table. And now, instead of inviting me for a stroll to the footbridge, you're eager to bring me home! Is this a date, or isn't it?"

At first, it was a welcome relief to finally give rein to the frustration she'd been nursing for so long. But as Mr. Hearst continued to goggle wordlessly at her, even after she'd come to the end of her tirade, Jane felt herself welling up with the terrible urge to cry. She hadn't thought so far ahead as to anticipate his reaction to her outburst, but she'd expected him to do _something_. Even a dismissive laugh or repulsed expression would have been preferable to this nonplused gawping. Jane didn't know what to make of the history teacher's lack of response; she could only surmise that while he might have found her attractive enough to sneak a kiss or two in the stacks, the idea of courting or even canoodling with her was so completely foreign to him that it had never even entered his head. Feeling the avid gazes of the Candy Kitchen's other patrons focused on her once more, Jane rose from her chair and fled the establishment before she made an even bigger scene before them all.

The tears came almost as soon as she opened the door and was bathed with a warm breeze, but the assistant librarian angrily dashed the wetness from her cheeks as she hastened homeward. She would _not _cry. Not even when she reflected how thoroughly she had managed to humiliate herself with her reckless declarations. Not even when she fathomed just how unequivocally, ridiculously and tremendously wrong she'd been in her assessment of the entire situation.

But Jane did not have time to ponder the matter too much further, as an unmistakably familiar masculine voice called out,

"Jane – please slow down!"

The assistant librarian had allowed Mr. Hearst such liberties all evening, but now it was high time to put an end to such familiarity. "That's 'Miss Peabody' to you," she coldly retorted as she maintained her brisk pace.

Being much stronger and faster than she was, the history teacher easily caught up to her and grabbed her arm. Jane whirled around to tell him to unhand her, but when their eyes met, she saw such tender concern in Mr. Hearst's gaze that she couldn't bring herself to be so cold. However, she still refused to speak to him, and resumed her inexorable march forward.

"Jane, I'm sorry for getting so tongue-tied," he said contritely as they walked along. "The truth is – I did invite you to the Candy Kitchen as a date."

When she still didn't say anything, Mr. Hearst brought the two of them to a halt and tugged her arm until she was facing him again. "I assure you, it wasn't my intention to embarrass or upset you." He paused, and frustration entered both his tone and expression as he went on, "Ever since we first met last summer, I've wanted to get to know you better outside the confines of the library. But for nine solid months, you staunchly rejected even my slightest advances. I _am_ trying to court you, and I seriously considered declaring myself tonight, but after the way you trembled when I came close to you in the library and the way you shied away from my unguarded glance in the Candy Kitchen, I didn't think you were ready to hear me talk that way." He looked down. "At least, not yet."

Even as her heart fluttered to hear the longing in his voice, Jane resentfully asked, "If you were so mad about me all these months, then why did you disappear from the library for a whole week, and avoid me assiduously upon your return?"

Looking suddenly elated, Mr. Hearst's head jerked back up. "You noticed I'd stopped coming to the library?"

"Not until after a day or two had passed," Jane fibbed, averting her eyes lest the history teacher immediately see she was telling a falsehood. However, her wobbly voice betrayed her true feelings. "Was it a Casanova-inspired tactic to draw me out?"

William Randall would have lost his temper at such incendiary slander and retorted with a stinging rebuke, but Jim Hearst did not. Though the history teacher's hand twitched sharply over hers for a brief moment, he did not speak. Instead, he wrapped Jane's arm firmly around his and pulled her to walk with him. Although she was originally the one to storm away, he was now leading their stroll – and from the looks of things, he was taking her to the footbridge. Her heart now prickling with remorse and disappointment, the assistant librarian further surmised from Mr. Hearst's irked expression and the determined set of his shoulders that this wasn't going to be the carefree, canoodling-filled constitutional she had been dreaming of for the past several days.

Indeed, when they finally reached their destination, her maligned escort let go of her arm and then turned to regard her with narrowed eyes. "Jane – I most certainly did not disappear to hurt you, or in a sly attempt to draw you out. After nine months of getting absolutely nowhere with you, I was becoming a town laughingstock. So I thought it best to withdraw and try to forget I felt anything for you in the first place because clearly, you did not care for me in that way. But given the nature of my profession and scholarly interests, I couldn't avoid the library forever. Your behavior upon my return was a complete surprise – still confusing, but encouraging enough that I decided it was well worth making one final advance."

Despite the earnest vehemence of his demeanor, Jane remained somewhat skeptical. "And just what are the ultimate intentions of your advances, Mr. Hearst?" she asked, coolly and frankly.

"I mean to court you," he immediately replied, just as no-nonsense and candid as she. "And if that goes well, I intend to marry you, Jane Edna Peabody."

At that, Jane's heart began to beat wildly and the bottom dropped out of her stomach. He didn't just see her as a pretty face or a heated but brief liaison. He _loved_ her. Jim Hearst loved her! Floored and humbled, she could only gape at him in the exact same befuddled manner as he had regarded her in the Candy Kitchen earlier. As she continued to look at him, a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, as if to say, how's _that_ for declaration?

It was this smirk that goaded Jane back into speech. "You've so thoroughly plotted our future together without even consulting me as to whether I was amenable to courtship in the first place," she sardonically observed.

His smile turned sheepish. "Well, I wasn't planning on springing this on you all at once. But you were extremely and startlingly direct in your questioning of my intentions, so I had no other recourse than to be completely honest." The history teacher's expression then turned downright bashful, as if he was a teenager nervously wooing the gal who'd long been the apple of his eye. "Of course, your consent would be crucial in this matter."

Just as she'd been unable to keep her dismay under wraps, Jane could not conceal the enchantment that lit up her eyes and smile. Seeing the normally calm and collected Jim Hearst so flustered and smitten was wholly endearing – and his lack of composure was made all the sweeter by the fact that her own heart yearned for him just as much in return.

Although the history teacher was already standing quite near to her, he took another, tentative step closer. "Jane," he said quietly, "why are you fighting this so much?"

His voice and gaze were so tender that she wanted him even more. But there was still one more inexorable barrier remaining between them – the ghost of William Randall. It wasn't that Jane couldn't let go of her first love, it was that she knew the meticulously moral history teacher could never approve of her innocent but torrid love affair, and would likely censure her once he discovered her unsavory conduct. The assistant librarian's own unforgivingly scrupulous sense of decency did not allow her to keep such revealing information about her true character from a serious romantic suitor; to allow Jim Hearst to marry or even court her ignorant of such an important epoch in her life would be an odious deception on her part.

However, unable to bear the final, inevitable rejection once the man she loved discovered her secret, Jane crossly demurred, "You're fighting this, too. You could have kissed me when we were alone together in the library, instead of just arresting my fall."

"I could have," Mr. Hearst concurred. The keenly ardent look blazed in his eyes again. "I _wanted_ to. But in the end, I'm glad I didn't. Because it was far more important to me to court you properly. That is, I preferred to take you on actual date first, before we engaged in such intimacies. At the very least, I'd like to come to an honest and straightforward understanding with you – not merely an implied one, forged on kisses alone." His expression grew perplexed. "If you do, in fact, return my feelings, why do you continue to reject me? Do you disapprove of me in some way?"

Jane's shoulders slumped and she bowed her head. At long last, it was time to tell him the truth. "On the contrary – you're one of the most admirable and decent men I've ever met. Which is exactly why I don't deserve you." She forced herself to look Mr. Hearst in the eye. "I _do_ care for you – so much so that I'm going to save you the trouble of rescinding your overtures later. Because it is you who would disapprove of me, and rightfully so, if you knew more of my prior history."

Though concern entered the history teacher's expression at her words, the tender look in his eyes did not lessen, and he reached out and gently took her hands in his. "Try me, Jane."

Lowering her gaze once more, she nevertheless rose to the challenge – though she took care to speak in the third person, lest she burst into tears. "Imagine, if you will, a girl who was only in her infancy when her parents died tragically in a house fire. Although her aunt and uncle took her in and raised her as their own, they had no money to send her college. Since she was not a pretty lass by any stretch of the imagination – and too much of a bluestocking to find a husband, besides – the only option left to her upon high school graduation was to become a personal secretary for a zoology professor at Iowa State College."

Jane paused and swallowed as a lump came into her throat, despite her doing everything she possibly could to prevent it. "Imagine, if you will, that this girl – this silly, naïve girl who was brought up carefully and properly and ought to have known better – ended up falling hopelessly in love with this professor, who was thirty years her senior, married and father to two teenaged daughters who were only a few years younger than she was at the time. However, being a lonely man who was sadly and irrevocably estranged from his wife, the professor couldn't help falling in love with her, in return. This secretary and professor both knew full well they had no right to fall in love, and they certainly had no right to exchange declarations and even kisses, but they did so, anyway. While they did not outright have an affair, they shared embraces that came dangerously close to breaking the seventh commandment. Being an honorable man, the professor eventually found a pretext for the secretary to quit that preserved both their reputations: Through his influence she 'won' a full scholarship to the University of Iowa. As the former secretary went on to achieve her bachelor's degree, the bereft professor died of a broken heart, leaving not just his wife, but his two beloved daughters, who were still just girls. All because _she_ had come into his life."

Once again, the tears massing behind her gaze threatened to burst forth; Jane paused to swallow in an effort to compose herself. "But despite her wicked folly, Providence saw fit to guide this girl to River City, where she became the assistant librarian for a lady whose wisdom, charity and grace rival that of the virtuous woman in Proverbs. So this girl finally found her rightful place in the world and, relinquishing those dangerous dreams of love and white knights, strove to live an upright life free of such temptation and vice."

Having come to the end of her story, Jane quieted and continued to stare determinedly at Mr. Hearst's hands – which were still holding hers. She had expected the history teacher to let go of her in disgust, but to her bewilderment, his grasp had only tightened throughout the course of her tale.

"A girl – a _woman_ – who shied away from subsequent romantic suitors, because she understandably never wanted to go through such heartache and loss again," he quietly observed. "A wonderful woman who, regrettably, can't seem to forgive herself for transgressions that weren't as reprehensible as she believes them to be."

Jane's head jerked up, and she was startled to see there wasn't the least bit of revulsion – or even disapproval – in his expression. She blinked, and a few tears escaped. "Is that the way you view the matter?" she breathed, her voice barely audible.

"Let me tell you a story, Jane," he said. "Imagine, if you will, a boy who fell in love with a girl when he was in grade school. Imagine that she fell in love with him, too, and that they only ever had eyes for each other. As soon as they grew up, they got married. Sadly, they weren't able to have children, even though they dearly wanted a family, but they accepted their lot and lived happily together."

The history teacher paused, and his eyes glazed over. "Then imagine that, after fourteen years of marriage, she contracted cancer and died. Unable to bear the heartache of continuing to exist – when she died, he no longer thought of it as _living_ – in the house they'd shared or even the town they'd grown up in, that man found a job far away from everything he knew. For him, the prospect of spending the remainder of his lonely existence among strangers in unfamiliar surroundings was far easier to bear than staying in a place where he was assailed at every turn by the memory of the love he'd lost. So even though he'd lived in Gloriosa all his life and never so much as crossed the state line of Kansas, he left everything and everyone he'd ever known. Knowing that the pain of losing his wife would never go away completely, he hoped that with a little distance, it would at least recede somewhat. Though he hoped to eventually make new friends in River City, he never expected or even wanted to care for another woman after losing his Mary."

Mr. Hearst paused again and leaned closer, until their noses were practically touching. His breath was warm and sweet upon Jane's cheeks as he continued, "But when he walked into Madison Public Library and saw the assistant librarian – who, despite her avowals to the contrary, is indeed pretty – he was instantly and irrevocably enchanted by her cheerful smile and sweet nature. Although this man was somewhat vexed by the splintering of the ancient history section at first, he came to appreciate how spread out it was, because it gave him the perfect excuse to linger in the library and spend as much time as possible with the woman he was falling in love with. And when she told him about her sad past, he admired her strength of character in the face of temptation and heartbreak, and the thought of rescinding his overtures never even entered his mind. On the contrary, he wanted to court her even more… "

Mr. Hearst stopped speaking and stared deeply into her eyes. For one wonderful, heart-stopping moment, Jane thought he was finally going to kiss her. But instead, he lifted her hands to his lips, and then turned them over and kissed the insides of her palms.

Although a few more tears escaped and she trembled slightly, Jane finally found not just her voice, but also a small, encouraging smile. "Suppose this assistant librarian has had too little experience with proper courtship to completely fathom what such things entail?"

Beaming at her in return, Mr. Hearst lowered her hands and laced his fingers through hers. "Courtship would entail much the same as what we already share now – friendship and good conversation. However, in addition to conversing in the library stacks, the assistant librarian and history teacher would attend dances and parties and picnics together, and sometimes he would treat her to confections at the Candy Kitchen. Sometimes they'd go on long strolls through fields and farmland, just the two of them enjoying each other's company and the sweet understanding they alone shared. And if she gave her consent, they'd walk hand in hand, or perhaps his arm would rest around her waist. And sometimes, when they were completely alone, they would stand very close together with their arms around each other, just like this" – his arms encircled her waist and he pulled her nearer to him – "and they would _not _talk at all… "

Jane's smile broadened, and she tilted her head at the proper angle as he moved in. "Jim… " she breathed, sweetly urging him onward.

For one maddening moment, he paused, and she chided herself inwardly for botching yet another kiss. But then Jim said in a rush of delight, "Oh, Jane – you don't know how long I've been waiting to hear you call me that… "

And without further ado, his mouth finally covered hers. Yet for all the unrestrained longing in the history teacher's voice, his kiss was surprisingly courteous, gentle and mild – but with an underlying passion and determination, much like his character. Although Jane was not so forward as to take the lead in deepening their embrace, she closed her eyes, parted her lips, and yielded as wholly and adeptly to Jim's advances as she knew how.

"Hmm," Jim said with a playful smile after their lips parted. "I should have gotten the chocolate malted, instead."

Jane giggled. "I was just regretting not having ordered the strawberry."

As the history teacher laughed and pulled her even closer, Jane buried her face in his lapel and inhaled deeply. She did not breathe in the heady aroma of leather, tobacco or brandy; Jim Hearst smelled simply of starched linen, soap and aftershave. It was a clean, invigorating scent, so different than that of the man she loved before. But it was an intoxicating aroma, all the same. "Jim," she said softly, testing his preferred appellation out again and liking the way it rolled so easily and gracefully off her tongue. Then she clutched at his lapel and inhaled deeply again.

"Oh, Jane… " he breathed, pressing his lips warmly against her forehead. "So much for this being my Sunday suit any longer – all I'll ever be able to think of is this moment whenever I wear it!"

Jane could have continued the conversation in this vein by archly observing that it would indeed be inappropriate to don an outfit recalling a romantic tryst when one was supposed to be solemnly in prayer, but she suddenly lacked the heart to engage in such teasing, lighthearted as it was. Instead, she raised her head to look at the man she loved and bashfully confessed, "I've been wanting to do that since the day we first shook hands."

For one, wonderful moment, Jim simply regarded her with an ardent look. Then he leaned in and buried his face in her curls. "I've been wanting to do _this_ since the first day you caught my eye," he said in a low voice.

Even as her heart fluttered with sheer delight at this proclamation, Jane couldn't help laughing. How was it that even though her unruly tresses repelled so many suitors, the men who did end up falling in love with her loved her _for_ her curls, rather than in spite of them? "My hair is a fright!" she protested, but good-naturedly. "And even if I did have sleeker tresses, it's been my experience that most men prefer fair-haired ladies."

"Most men are fools," Jim countered passionately. "You're a first-rate catch, Jane Edna Peabody. You're beautiful" – he kissed her curls – "intelligent" – he kissed her forehead – "kind" – he kissed her cheek – "sweet" – he kissed her neck – "and honest" – he kissed her lightly on the lips.

While the assistant librarian graciously accepted the majority of his compliments, she could not let the last one go by without argument. "_Honest_? I'm terribly blunt – at least, far more blunt than a lady should be."

Jim shook his head. "You have a refreshingly forthright nature. As unprepared as I was for your stark honesty at first, I greatly admire it. I've never liked the coy games most women tend to play." He regarded her with a stern, almost scolding, expression. "Jane Edna Peabody, if you're still trying to talk me out of loving you, you're failing miserably at it – " He kissed her again, harder this time.

Deciding to cede him the debate – at least, just this once – Jane parted her lips in silent invitation for him to deepen their embrace. But to her amused exasperation, Jim soon broke their kiss to bury his face in her curls once more. As he luxuriated in her tresses, she nuzzled his cheek indulgently and whispered everything she found so appealing about him, in return. And to her delight, not only was his mouth soon impatient to find hers once more, he no longer hesitated to part her lips and explore the contours of her mouth with his tongue. As he kissed her both avidly and sweetly, Jane boldly reciprocated in kind; although she had not experienced such passion in several years, she had never forgotten what she learned beneath William's ardent tutelage. She could have easily played the blushing, innocent rose and followed Jim's lead, as he clearly knew what he was doing, but it was far more wonderful and exhilarating to properly kiss the man she loved and have him sigh and nestle close to her – thrillingly, dangerously close. Yet even after Jim slid his hand behind her neck and tilted her head so he could kiss her even more deeply, the rhythm of their embrace remained easy and delightful, fueled by passionate longing but free of any sense of brokenhearted desperation and impending loss. This kiss was only the beginning for them.

Although Jane blushed to see just how taken Jim looked with her embrace when their lips finally parted, a not-insignificant part of her was unabashedly grateful that she was not entirely inexperienced in the arena of physical love.

However, as the assistant librarian was still a maid, her embarrassment eventually won out. "See?" she said softly. "Terribly blunt."

Still looking dazed – and happily so – Jim gently cupped her cheek with his hand. "You _do_ know what it is to love, with all your heart and soul – and then to lose everything," he agreed, sounding awed but not at all perturbed. His arms tightened around her again, this time protectively. "Mrs. Hill urged me to tread carefully with you – and I'm glad she did."

Jane's eyes widened, and she forgot her embarrassment. "You talked to Miss Marian about me?" she exclaimed, not sure whether to be flattered or miffed by this unexpected revelation. "When?"

Jim looked a bit sheepish. "Actually, she approached me last week. Not to pry, but because she was growing too concerned about the situation to remain silent. She frankly but politely pointed out I was in grave danger of overplaying my hand and making a complete fool of myself. And she was right – I was spending nearly as much time in the library as I was in class, and I had nothing to show for it. So I decided it would be best to stay away for a little while, until I got used to the idea that the woman my heart longed for didn't and likely wouldn't ever return my feelings."

Jane warmly hugged the man she loved. "As dreadfully lonely as your absence left me, I will always be grateful for it. Because it was only when I realized what I had lost that I finally had to stop denying the true depth of my feelings for you." She smiled, feeling just as sheepish. "Miss Marian also had a talk with me, as well – when I went to her for advice, she gently but steadfastly urged me to face my fears and take the necessary steps to overcome them." Pressing her lips to Jim's cheek in a deeply apologetic kiss, she continued, "I'm sorry for being so inscrutable – and for all the pain I've caused you these past several months."

Jim's hands stroked her back soothingly as he continued to hold her close. "I'm sorry for _your_ heartache, Jane. Hopefully it will ease your heart to know that even when I longed for you to return my feelings, your friendship alone made me happier than I ever thought I'd ever be again. And whatever pain I may have felt over your rejection has faded away completely – now that we've cleared up our misunderstandings, we've got a bright future ahead of us." He ended their embrace and laced his fingers through hers. "And let me further assure you that I mean to take our courtship slowly. Now that we have come to an understanding, I look forward to getting to know you even better, both cordially and romantically." Giving her hands an affectionate squeeze, he concluded, "And on that note, perhaps you'd like to return with me to the Candy Kitchen for another malted – a strawberry one, this time?"

Jane archly raised an eyebrow at him. "On a school night?"

Jim's eyes twinkled, even as he wore his usual affable smile. "You're worth losing sleep over, any day."

For the first time in her life, the strait-laced assistant librarian was actually managing to flirt deliberately with a man, and she was stunned to discover how easy it could be. And not only that, she was planning to continue! Smiling mischievously, Jane took a step forward, closing the distance between them once more. "Later, perhaps. To be perfectly frank, I think it would be best for us to linger at the footbridge for just a little while longer. Because after so many months of frustration and misunderstanding, we still have so much to _not_ talk about… "

Jim's smile disappeared, but Jane wasn't alarmed she'd offended him. On the contrary, the history teacher's expression was as elated as that of the man who, as the school board sang so sweetly, had come home to his Lida Rose at last.

"You know, I think we do," the history teacher agreed, his voice thick with longing. Pulling Jane close once more, his mouth ardently covered hers and, except for the occasional soft sigh, they were indeed silent for quite awhile.

XXX

That same evening, thanks to a surprise visit from Mrs. Paroo, Harold and Marian managed to get away for their own stroll to the footbridge. But as they rounded the corner to their favorite canoodling spot, they saw it was already happily occupied.

The music professor grinned and winked at the librarian. "Well, what do you know? Jane and Jim finally managed to come to an understanding, after all."

Both relieved and delighted by this turn of events, Marian couldn't help laughing. "It's about time!" she said vehemently, before heading off with her husband to the Candy Kitchen for the time being.

XXX

_A/N – And so, after a year and four-plus months, this novel-length fic has finally come to a close! However, while this may be the end of The New Arrival, it's only the beginning of Jane's courtship – there will be more to come with the assistant librarian and history teacher in a future fic. But for now, thanks to everyone who read and reviewed!_


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